


Flash Facts of Bart Allen

by Killthespare



Series: After the Fall of Olympus [2]
Category: Impulse (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), The Flash - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Bart Allen, Bart Allen Needs A Hug, Bart Allen is Impulse, Failsafe actually happened, Gen, M/M, Pre-Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes - Freeform, Prior knowledge of Young Justice not exactly needed, Secret Identity, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, The Rogues (DCU) As Family, please read beginning note
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21647809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killthespare/pseuds/Killthespare
Summary: Bart Allen is the Fastest Man Alive. Not everyone thinks he should be--including, quite possibly, Bart Allen.Chapter 1-2: The Return of the RoguesChapter 3: 12 Days of Christmas(A collection of short stories. Please read beginning story note)
Relationships: Barry Allen & Leonard Snart, Bart Allen & Jaime Reyes, Bart Allen & Leonard Snart, Bart Allen & The Rogues, Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes
Series: After the Fall of Olympus [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1245569
Comments: 52
Kudos: 189





	1. The Return of the Rogues

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys, this is a short story based off my pre-existing AU! So, if you've already read the work before this (After the Fall of Olympus), great! This story takes place after Year 6. 
> 
> If you haven't read that story and want to read this one first, that's also great and you should be able to without much confusion. Just read the note below:
> 
> -(warning for fairly minor spoilers for After the Fall of Olympus)  
> -Failsafe (an alien invasion) actually happened and took out the Justice League and almost all of Young Justice--like in the show. This story takes place five years after.  
> -The Titans rose to replace the League  
> -Jay Garrick started an activist organization to protect/ stop kid heroes  
> -Bart still came back from an apocalypse future and stopped Blue Beetle from starting the Reach Invasion
> 
> And that's pretty much everything you need to know for this story.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Half a world away from Central City, in one of Monte Carlo’s largest penthouses, a man with sharp blue eyes cuts into a package with short, precise movements.

On the couch, a blonde woman glances over her magazine before rolling her eyes. “Honestly, Lenny, why even bother? It’s out of date by the time it gets here and the shipping fees cost more that we used to make in a week. A  _ good  _ week.”

“And now, we have money to spare.” The man pulls out the newspaper with  _ Central City Citizen  _ large across the top. “It never hurts to stay informed.”

“Depends on what you’re waiting for.”

The man ignores her, hands suddenly going tight around the paper as he stares at the headline.

For the first time in over six years, Leonard Snart’s brain turns with a thousand detailed plans and when he looks back up, he finds he’s grinning.

His sister still hasn’t turned away from her magazine.

“Lisa, go wake up Mick and track down the others.” His smile gets even sharper. “It’s time to go home.”

Printed in big black letters is the paper’s top story.

**_The Flash Returns to Central City?_ **

  
  
  
  


\-----

It’s not the Flash. That’s the first thing Len finds out, barely a week back in the city and still scanning through every snippet he can find about the city’s new speedster. There’s maddeningly little--only rumors and excited whispers and a few blurry pictures of  _ something  _ going faster than the camera can track.

There’s a brief, bitter moment where Len thinks there’s nothing. That it wasn’t a speedster at all, maybe a Kryptonian stopping by briefly or something new and already gone. That he came back for nothing.

Then the Titans release a statement confirming that  _ yes _ , a new speedster is working out of Central, that he’s already associated with the Titans, and going by the name ‘Impulse’ and  _ no,  _ they will not be answering any more questions at this time.

_ Impulse _ .

Len rolls the name around in his mind, trying to decide if he likes it. It’s new. Different and with different, there’s always a chance that it’s  _ too  _ different. That it’s lesser and that whoever’s weaving lightning through the streets won’t be anything close to the ones that came before him. Won’t be a challenge.

Len is so fucking sick of not having a challenge.

The second thing Len finds out--or, well, really the first thing though it only fully comes together after the Titans’ announcement--the new speedster values his privacy. Almost to a paranoid degree. There’s nothing. No picture. No description. No clue as to where he came from or how he’s here now. Central wouldn’t even know it’s a ‘he’ if not for the announcement.

It’s strange. Almost like the early days of the Flash when the man was more myth than anything. But that had been a long time ago. By the time he died, there wasn’t a man, woman, or child in Central that  _ didn’t  _ know the masked face, the bright smile, and the lightning symbol.

Central City loved their hero. They wore shirts with his symbol, threw parades in his honor, cheered when he ran through the street. 

They built an entire  _ museum _ dedicated to him.

The new speedster hides from them.

And, for the life of him, Len can’t figure out why.

  
  
  


\-----

It’s a Wednesday night, exactly ten days since stepping back in Central, that Len finds himself at the Flash museum.

He’s not quite sure  _ why  _ he’s here. If it’s to pay his respects or just because he needs a break from chasing dead ends.

Either way, the lock’s ridiculously easy to pick for a place supposedly commemorating crime fighting.

He brings flowers. Because that’s what you do when you visit a grave and the world can say whatever they want about Captain Cold but Len  _ never  _ wanted to see the Flash dead. Much less both him and the Kid.

It’s dark inside the museum. Quiet, too, the only sound coming from the snores of a single night guard. Halls of memorabilia, of plaques, of exhibits spread out from a single atrium and right in the middle, carved from stone and towering three stories high, is the statue.

Len squints up at it, laying his flowers down at the base among heaps of other tokens.

“Hey, Scarlet,” he says quietly, “bet you didn’t think you’d see me again.”

Whoever carved the statue got the body wrong, too wide with broad shoulders while the real man was slim with a runner’s build. The face is decent enough.

Len sticks his hands in his coat. “I can’t believe you went and died in a pointless invasion. You weren’t supposed to do that. But then, you always had to go and be the hero, didn’t you? Nobody left to even try and stop me. Not much of a game if no one else is playing, Flash.”

“I made them a good life, you know,” he continues aimlessly. He spares a brief thought wondering if he should feel insane, monologuing to a pile of rocks. “All of us Rogues. Planned a few good scores and got ourselves set up for the long game. No fun, though. Boring. The Rogues weren’t made for sitting back and watching. You always knew that.” He shrugs. “So, Scarlet, suppose the new guy’ll be any competition?”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Len jerks, the cold gun already warming up under his coat and his finger on the trigger.

A kid stares back at him, large green eyes and shaggy hair.

Len takes his hand off the gun.

The kid’s still staring, not looking particularly fazed at being alone in a dark museum with a stranger that’s clearly carrying some kind of weapon under his coat.

Len decides on glaring. “The museum's closed, kid. What are you doing here?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” the kid says, walking forward and hopping up to sit on the rail that circles the statue. “I’m here because it’s a good place to think and the gate’s easy to climb. What’s your excuse?”

Len narrows his eyes and doesn’t answer.

The kid nods his head up at the statue. “Did you know him?”

“In passing,” Len says shortly.

“Really? What was he like?”

Len pauses, actually taking a second to fully look at the kid. 

His clothes look alright, new enough with only a hint of wear. His shoes, on the other hand, are practically worn bare, looking like a single more step might find his toes breaking through the sole. The biggest sign is the body language, tense and constantly at the ready even with the easy smile hanging off the kid’s face.

Normal kids don’t break into museums for a place to think. Not unless they’re in some kind of trouble.

The new clothes say that at least he’s not homeless. Len grew up in Central City, learned its darker parts like the scars on his skin. He knows a kid doesn’t have to be homeless to not have a home.

A street kid, most likely. And fuck it, if the kid broke into a museum to stare at a dead hero, Len’s not going to be the one to burst his bubble.

The kid’ll learn soon enough on his own what comes from chasing heroes.

Oblivious to Len’s thoughts, the kid tilts his head. “Well? Come on, give me something.”

“He was annoyingly decent,” Len settles on. “ _ Nice _ , I suppose, the way that real people aren’t supposed to actually be. He was….”

_ A good man. A worthy rival. Dead. _

“….the kind you weren’t surprised became a hero,” he finishes lamely. He gauges the kid’s age as a young teenager, old enough to remember when the Flash died. “What about you? Ever meet him?”

The kid smiles slightly. “Nah. My cousin told me about him, though. Favorite kind of bedtime stories.”

Len leans on the rail next to him. “You like heroes, kid?”

“Who doesn’t like heroes?”

Len rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “You  _ need  _ a hero, kid?”

The kid stares at him, confused for a second, before he starts to laugh.

“No, no,” the kid laughs again, “don’t worry, I think I’ve got  _ plenty  _ of heroes around. I’m fine.”

Len doesn’t believe him. Not when his posture is still tense and guarded.

He drops it for now, though. Something Len’s learned from bouncing around in the system, you can’t _ force _ a kid to tell you anything. 

Instead, he changes the subject. “Heard there’s a new speedster in town.”

“What? Impulse?” 

“Think he’ll be anything like him.” Len jerks his thumb up at the statue. “Better?”

The kid shakes his head immediately. “No way. Flash and Kid Flash were the greatest heroes ever, no way the new guy even comes close.”

Len gives a slight grin. He might actually like this kid.

“...yeah, you’re probably right,” Len says, pushing off from the railing. “Still...I can hope.”

He turns back to the dark halls.

“You leaving?”

Len raises an eyebrow. “Believe it or not, I actually do have better plans than standing in an empty museum all night.”

The kid gives him a look like he seriously doubts it.

Len takes it back. He doesn’t like this kid  _ at all _ , he reminds him too much of his sister.

“What’s your name, kid,” he asks, walking back.

The kid grins. “Bart. Bart Allen.”

Len sticks out his hand. “Leonard Snart, though I suppose you can call me Len.”

The strangest thing happens on the kid’s face, like a flicker or a trick of light. Len blinks and it’s gone and the kid’s still smiling at him.

Bart shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Len.”

  
  
  


\-----

“I had a tan, you know.” Lisa sighs wistfully, sitting beside him on the roof. “A beautiful tan from long hours on the beach. Do you know where you  _ can’t  _ get a tan, Lenny? Abandoned warehouses in Central.”

Len doesn’t look away from his binoculars. “You didn’t  _ have  _ to come back.”

“Don’t be stupid; it’s home.” She smiles. “And besides, Rogues stick together. Like any of us were going to miss the return of the Flash.”

“Not the Flash.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Fine, yes,  _ Impulse  _ or whatever the new guy’s calling himself. A speedster’s a speedster.”

Len just hums, still eyeing the bank.

Lisa bumps his shoulder. “So, you think the new Flash will be as cute as the last one?”

He finally lifts his gaze, giving his sister a long put upon stare. “I  _ think  _ that if we don’t get more intel that the ‘new Flash’ is going to remain nothing but an indistinct blur. A blur that will have us in handcuffs before you even bat your eyes at him, sister dear.”

“Such a killjoy,” she tsks but goes back to her position. “How much longer until the show starts?”

“If Scudder’s mirrors did their job right, the Martinez brothers should be hitting the bank in two minutes and twenty-eight seconds.” Len checks the timer on the side of his binoculars. “Based on previous surveillance records, this Impulse has a response time of one minute and fourteen seconds after the alarm is pulled...the Flash had a response time under a minute.”

“Aww, don’t pout, Lenny. He’s still new.” Her voice drops back to business. “You sure these cameras will work?”

“They have military grade resolution and are set to activate the millisecond they detect anything over one hundred miles per hour. They’ll work.”

The alarm on the bank goes off.

“And the show begins.” Lisa tilts her head. “Feels weird sitting  _ outside  _ a bank robbery, doesn’t it?”

“Next time.”

A streak of lightning rushes down the street and into the bank and approximately one minute and three seconds later, the Martinez brothers land outside the bank, hands tied and with their guns wrapped uselessly at their side.

Len turns to his sister. “Check the cameras.”

Lisa’s hands fly over the keyboard and then she pauses.

“....hey, Len, I don’t think you’re going to like this.”

Len’s heart is beating fast in his chest. “The cameras didn’t catch him?”

Lisa lets out a choked off laugh. “Ah, yeah, I think it’s more like he caught  _ them _ .”

On all twelve cameras, over a hundred thousand dollars worth of equipment, a simple yellow sticky note sits over the lens.

With a smiley face.

The new speedster’s taunting them.

And despite everything, Len smirks. The game just got interesting.

  
  
  


\-----

“Hey, you came back!”

The next Wednesday, Len ends up at the Flash museum again.

He still doesn’t really know why.

Len sighs heavily. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk to strangers, kid?”

Bart’s balancing along the edge of the rail, trying to walk it. “One, I’m not a kid--”

“You’re what? Eleven?”

“-- _ Thirteen, _ ” Bart insists before pausing, “actually, no wait, I think I might be fourteen now--”

“You don’t know,” Len says skeptically.

“Pft, time. Anyway, not a kid and  _ two _ ,” Bart holds up two fingers emphatically, “you’re not a stranger. You’re Len or Leonard or, I guess, Mr. Snart but that seems super formal and I’m not really the formal type so I think I’m just going to stick with Len because Leonard’s kind of bleh, you know? Not that I can really judge. I mean my full name’s Bartholemew, so--”

“Do you always talk this much,” Len interrupts.

Bart grins. “No, not always, but usually when I’m not, that’s probably bad.”

Bart is a really strange kid. 

“So, why’d you come back,” Bart asks.

“Maybe I wanted to enjoy the quiet,” Len shoots back.

“Wow, well, I guess this really sucks for you then, doesn’t it?”

Len feels a headache forming behind his right eye. “Isn’t it a school night? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I don’t go to school,” Bart says with a shrug, windmilling his arms to stay balanced on the rail. “And I don’t really like to sleep much.”

Well, that at least confirms Len’s suspicions of a street kid. And yet, he frowns.

“Why don’t you go to school, kid?”

“That’s another thing I didn’t really like much.” Bart almost over balances briefly before catching himself. “I mean I tried but it was just soooooo boring. I don’t know how everybody else does it.”

The frown deepens. “You should be in school. It’s important.”

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at teaching myself.”

“Still.”

Bart looks up, laughing. “Is the guy I met breaking into museums really lecturing me about staying in school?”

“Yeah, he is.” Len glares. “Listen, kid--Bart, a good mind can take you a lot farther than knowing how to throw a punch. Trust me on that.”

The kid’s smile softens.

“I’m fine, really...but, thanks, I guess.”

Once again, Len doesn’t believe him. But, then again, the truancy of one strange kid isn’t really his problem.

Len’s still frowning as he leaves.

  
  
  


\-----

Len pins the best photo they have to the center of the corkboard. It’s a pretty pathetic photo, if he’s being honest. A shape more than a person, only distinguished in red and white streaks and the lightning cocooning around it.

“Here’s what we know,” Len addresses the room. “Male speedster, goes by the name ‘Impulse’. First report two months ago, saving a man and child during a meta attack in Central. Only speculation for about a month before he appears again and regularly around the city. We already know he’s working with the Titans; but, based on response time, he’s still centered in Central or possibly Keystone. No clear relation to the Flash, Kid Flash,or Garrick.” 

Mark huffs, twirling his weather staff around like a baton. “How have  _ none  _ of the people he’s saved come up with a decent descriptor?”

“Apparently, he blurs his face,” Len says, restraining an eye twitch as Axel pokes at one of his toy explosives, nearly exploding the hideout for the third time this week. “Like Garrick did back in the 40s.”

“We sure Garrick doesn’t know anything,” Sam asks. “His house still has some kind of magic ward against my mirrors; but, I bet I could--”

Hartley snorts loudly. “Oh, please, like any hero is going to go within ten feet of Garrick with all the heat of the JSA surrounding him. If I was the new Flash, I wouldn’t even stay in the same city.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing this  _ Impulse  _ is braver than you, isn’t it, Harty-Hart,” Lisa winks, turning to Len and ignoring Hartley’s grimace. “Go on, tell us what else we got.”

“He’s toying with us.” Len points to the smiley face sticky note. “Five different attempts and every time, he covered our cameras. Somehow, he knows we’re back in the city. He knows we’re watching him. He knows we’re planning something.”

“And he hasn’t even tried to find us yet.” Sam grins at Lisa. “Ha, maybe he  _ is  _ scared. Right, Lisa babe?”

Len lets out a breath between his teeth. 

Children. His team is a bunch of children.

“Hey, Cap, what are we thinking about with age for this guy,” Axel pipes in. “Think he’s younger than me?”

“No one’s younger than you, Axel,” Mark drawls. “You’re practically an embryo.”

“I’m twenty-three!”

“It’s unlikely,” Len answers coolly. “Both Garrick and the previous Flash didn’t start operating solely until at least their mid-twenties. Plus, based on speed, this Impulse is far closer to the previous Flash’s speed than either Kid Flash or Garrick. Paired with the fact he seems to operate in Central at any hour of the day, I think we’re looking for a male, mid-twenties, and either unemployed or with very flexible hours.”

“Yeah, yeah, Flash this, Impulse that,” Mick bangs a fist against the table. “What are we going to do about the Beretti family edging into our turf?”

The group shifts, turning to look at the resident hot head.

Lisa hums. “Well, we have been gone over five years. I guess we should have expected we’d come back to competition.”

“Yeah, but not those Beretti sons of bitches,” Mick grunts. “They’re out of Gotham originally, lowest scum you can get. The sale laced drugs to kids kind of low. And word on the street is they’re recruiting, too. Shit’s gonna get real bad real soon, Len.”

Len taps his fingers against the table. 

Eventually, he speaks. “Impulse is still our main priority. But, the Beretti’s are our new secondary target. Let’s remind them why the Rogue’s are the  _ only  _ gang that operates out of Central.”

  
  
  
  


\-----

“ _ Finally _ , I’ve been waiting for you forever!” Bart waves at the stack of cards in front of him. “Here, pick a card!”

Len’s no longer surprised to see the kid.

“This museum really does have the  _ worst  _ security,” he grumbles, sparing a glance at the spread the kid’s laid out. It looks like the classic start to three card monte.

“ _ Or _ maybe I’m just a super stealthy master criminal.” Bart winks, sitting cross legged on the floor. “Now, hurry up! Pick a card! I’ve been practicing for an entire hour and no one else will play it with me anymore.”

Len sighs but obligingly lowers himself to the ground. “I think you’re missing a step.”

“What? Oh, right!” Bart turns the card in the middle, revealing the red queen. “Okay, you ready?”

“Pass,” Len says dryly. “I don’t particularly see a draw in contributing to your life as a gambler.”

Bart pouts. “Aww, come on, think of it like an educational experience. It’s probability!”

“It’s hustling.”

“Still learning.”

Len rolls his eyes. “Want learning? Lesson one, kid: want people to listen, learn how to sweeten the pot.”

Bart pauses, frown going contemplative as he taps his chin.

Len waits.

“Okay, got it! How about a bet?”

“Still pass, you don’t have anything I want, kid.”

“Not a kid.” Bart thinks for another second. “How about this? You win and I’ll tell you how I sneak in to the museum every week.”

Len raises an eyebrow. “You already told me. First time we met, you hop the gate.”

Bart’s grin getting wider. “I lied.”

Despite himself, Len finds he’s somewhat amused.

“Alright, let’s say I’m in a particular generous mood and assume I  _ care  _ how you get into the museum--”

“Trust me, you’ll care.”

“--and let’s assume I believe you won’t lie to me a second time,” Len finishes. “What do you want on your side?”

Bart shrugs. “How about a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll think of that whenever I need it.”

Len almost snorts. “I don’t agree to unnamed favors, kid.”

“Then, I guess you better not lose. And, I told you, don’t call me ‘kid.’”

“Still don’t have a good enough reason to agree. Try again.”

“Nah, I think you do.” The grin Bart gives him is sharp and wide. “ _ I  _ think you want to see if you’ll win.”

The air falls quiet around them as Len considers.

“Fine,” Len agrees. “A favor for a secret. Give me your best shot,  _ kid _ .”

Len doesn’t mention that he hasn’t lost a game of three card monte since he was half Bart’s age. And he’s not planning to start now.

Bart flips the queen back over and lays his hands on the cards. “Ready?”

“Go ahead.”

Bart’s smile runs just this side of mischievous. “Don’t look away, okay?”

“I know how to play the game, Bart.”

“Just saying…I’m pretty fast, you know.”

Len actually does snort this time. “I think I can handle it.”

“Kay.”

Bart’s hands move over the cards and Len tracks them, making sure not to watch the cards but the way Bart’s fingers move around them. A few seconds later, they stop.

Len smirks as he points to the one on the right.

Bart smirks back as he turns it. 

Eight of spades.

Len stares, blinking hard as if that will change what he sees.

“Told you I’ve been practicing.” Bart leans back with a grin. “Guess that means you owe me a favor one day, huh?”

Len runs the moves over in his head again before frowning. He doesn’t know how the kid just did that. Len  _ always  _ knows. “....show me that again.”

“Ha, that wasn’t part of the bet!”

This fucking kid.

  
  
  
  


\-----

The Rogues stop using the cameras. They’re not worth the effort. All they have is handfuls of smiley face sticky notes and, unless Len finds a way to match two dots and a curve with a handwriting sample of everyone in Central, that’s nothing.

Instead, Len moves on to phase two, plan b. The waiting game. If Impulse knows they’re watching him, knows they’re planning something, then let Len see how Central City’s newest speedster reacts to the Rogues doing  _ nothing. _

In the meantime, Mick was right about the Beretti family. They don’t belong in Central and Len’s got more than enough ideas to make it clear they’ve overstayed their welcome.

Len has hunting to do.

And until he’s done, let the world’s new fastest man sit and wait for once. Len knows from experience that anticipation is often worse than the blow.

With any luck, this Impulse will be half mad by the wait before the Rogues even strike.

  
  
  


\-----

The next time Len sees Bart, the kid’s hopped the rail and is leaning against the statue with a book propped open in his lap. 

Len spies the cover and raises an eyebrow. “Steinbeck, huh? Never took you for a fan of the classics.”

“I’m not,” Bart throws in a shrug without looking up. “But, my friend bet me to read the library and this one’s still bugging me.”

“One, I know I was contributing to your gambling. And two,” Len frowns, “that is a  _ spectacularly _ terrible bet. You can’t read an entire library, kid.”

“Ha, sure I can!” 

Not for the first time, Len thinks that Bart is a strange, strange kid.

He tells him so.

Unsurprisingly, Bart just grins. “Heard that before. And stop calling me ‘kid’. Also, hey, pop quiz, do you believe in destiny?”

Such a strange kid.

“Why,” Len asks, leaning against the railing to look down at Bart.

“Because I asked.”

And Len isn’t quite sure he wants to answer. “What do you think?”

“Not fair. I asked first.”

“Life’s not fair.”

Bart cackles because, of course, he does. “Okay, fine, I guess  _ I’ll  _ go first, you big baby.” He gives a lopsided smile. “I don’t  _ believe  _ in destiny. I  _ know  _ it. Some things are just supposed to happen. If not, it makes everything else way too screwy. Trust me.”

Len’s feeling generous so he’ll pretend that anything the kid just said makes a bit of sense. “Alright, say I believe that, which things are destiny and which are more...let’s say malleable?”

Bart smiles. “Well, that’s the hard part, isn’t it?”

“What’s your book say?”

The kid runs a finger along the spine. “I guess it says that destiny’s more of a maybe. That it’s not about what people tell you to do or what you  _ will  _ do….it’s just kind of about what’s possible.” Bart looks up. “That’s not really destiny; but, I think I like that better. It makes it feel more real.”

Len watches him before shaking his head.

“Destiny’s not real, kid. If it was, the world would be a lot less messy.”

  
  
  


\------

Really with how nosey the Rogues normally are, Len’s lucky he’s made it this far.

“Where do you keep going Wednesday night?”

Len rolls his eyes and doesn’t look up from his files documenting the Beretti’s top enforcers.

Standing above him, Hartley tilts his head. “Not trying to keep a secret from us. Are you, Len?”

“Quit bugging him, Hartley. Snart’s probably just found himself a lady friend.” Mark waggles his eyebrows outrageously in a way that makes Len regret ever meeting him.

Axel lets out a low whistle. “No way, boss, is that true? You got a girl?”

Sitting on the kitchen aisle, Lisa lets out a loud laugh. “No way, Lenny with a crush is at least fifty percent more awkward. I bet my dearest brother’s just found a new place to brood.”

Amazing as it sounds, Len hears that other gang leaders actually get respect.

“Or he’s finding our next job,” Mick says, running a hand over his heat gun almost lovingly. “Man, I can’t wait to give the new baby a  _ real  _ test run.”

Sam hums distracted, not looking up from his mirror. “Nah, Lisa’s right. He just goes to the Flash museum.”

As one, the entire room looks up. Sam stops, paling as he realizes what he just said.

Len glares. “And why precisely do you think that, Scudder?”

“Oh, well, you know, Len--er, I mean, boss.” Sam winces. “Sometimes, my mirrors just get curious and it never really hurts--”

“Why do you go to the Flash museum, Lenny,” Lisa interrupts and her voice is abruptly serious.

Len sighs. “I was just paying my respects, sis. That’s it.”

“That’s a once,  _ maybe _ twice kind of thing,” Lisa says. “Not hours every week. These kind of things fester, Lenny. You can’t bury yourself in the past.”

The Rogues have gone quiet around them, watching how the conversation plays out.

“I’m not,” Len grounds out. “And it  _ was  _ just a once kind of thing.”

“Sam, says it’s where you’ve been every Wednesday. I know how your obsessions start. You can’t--”

“There’s this kid,  _ okay _ ?”

Lisa blinks, cut off from her no doubt concerned tirade. “What?”

Len turns pointedly back to his work. “There’s this kid that keeps hanging around the Flash museum. The type of kid like we were.”

There’s another two beats of quiet before…

“....aww, Len, why didn’t you just say so,” Lisa coos. “Look at you and your heart of gold acting up again. Adorable!”

“I  _ don’t  _ have a ‘heart of gold.’”

The air around the room relaxes again, a good handful of the Rogues hiding smirks behind their hands as Len glares at every single one of them. He wonders if he can find a way to give them  _ all  _ the worst job next heist. Or maybe just Hartley and Sam since they started all this mess.

Unaware of his impending fate, Hartley lounges back on the couch. “So, what’s the kid’s name?”

Len doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

Lisa pouts. “Oh, come on, Len. We’ll find out anyway.”

Truly, the lengths Len has to go to get some fucking work done.

“Bart.”

“Let’s meet him!”

_ “No.” _

  
  
  


\-----

The thing about Bart is that he makes it surprisingly easy to forget that  _ something’s  _ off about him.

The kid’s strange. That’s undeniable. But, he’s the type of strange that shows off dumb card tricks, has a ridiculous sort of grin, and says things just skating the bounds of not normal. It’s a bright kind of strangeness, a happy one, almost magnetic. No need for concern.

It’s the little things that pick at Len. The why’s. The moments that Bart makes jokes a bit too dark for a fourteen year old kid. The odd sense of weight he brings to seemingly innocuous phrases. The responses that don’t make any sense.

It’s a month and a half after their first meeting that Len gets the first hint that there’s something truly wrong about Bart Allen’s life.

“This is ridiculous,” Len says.

Bart ignores him, focusing instead on shuffling his card deck one more time.

He holds up a seven of diamonds. “Okay, is  _ this  _ your card?”

“No,” Len responds flatly. “Kid--”

“Not a kid.”

“-- _ kid _ , you’ve gone through half the deck. Give it up, magic’s not going to be your hidden talent.”

Bart huffs. “Well, duh, magic’s not real. But, I  _ know  _ I can get this card trick.”

“Magic’s not real, huh? Pretty sure there’s some superheroes out there that would disagree with you. New lesson, don’t discount stuff just because you can’t do it. That’s how you end up dead.”

Bart pauses in shuffling long enough to roll his eyes. “I’m not discounting it; I’m just saying it’s not real. Magic’s just science we haven’t learned how to explain yet. My cousin always told me--”

The ring of a phone cuts them off.

They both stare at each other for a solid second before Bart is scrambling in his pocket, pulling out a phone only to quickly silence it before Len gets to see anything more than the name  _ Jaime  _ flashing across the screen.

“Sorry, they made me get a new phone,” Bart mutters, still looking at the screen.

“Well, don’t ignore it on my account,” Len says smoothly, curiosity getting the better of him as Bart’s gone quiet and still.

“No.” Bart shakes his head firmly, still laying the phone down with a surprising amount of gentleness as he turns pointedly back to Len. “It’s fine, I didn’t want to talk to him anyway.”

Len raises an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

The grin Bart gives him is too wide to be real. “Doesn’t matter, I’d rather be talking to you anyway.  _ So,  _ maybe if you pick a different card--”

“Yeah, no,” Len presses, smirking because this is the first time he’s seen the kid so much as ruffled, “come on, kid, why are you looking at the phone as if it’s the next great plague.”

Bart’s smile dims, voice going hard. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it. Especially not with strangers I meet breaking into museums.”

Gone on to defensive, then. Len’s even more intrigued.

“Oh, so, I’m back to being a stranger again,” he questions. “ _ Good, _ who better to trust with secrets than a stranger?”

“I’ve met a lot of bad strangers,” Bart shoots back before he sighs, looking at the cards. His voice goes quieter. “Look, it’s complicated and….and it’s not really the nice kind of story either. You don’t want to hear it. Believe me.”

As if Len’s ever known how to drop a good mystery.

“Try me, kid,” he dares. “I’ve heard a lot of shit in my life. Something tells me that whatever secret you’re holding doesn’t even come close.”

Bart stares up at him, green eyes going dark and mouth firming.

“I almost killed him.  _ That’s  _ why I don’t want to talk.”

That….that wasn’t what Len was expecting.

“By accident,” Len asks because Bart’s a fourteen year old kid, a  _ weird  _ kid but not a bad one. Len’s good at knowing people. He would put his money on the kid never doing anything truly malicious in his entire life.

Bart lets out a slow breath. “No, not by accident.”

“Did you have a good reason,” Len tries again.

Bart goes quiet, thinking, before finally, he shrugs. “I thought I did.”

Something in Len’s chest settles. Like the sudden worry that he was looking at Bart through the wrong lens shifting until he realizes he just wasn’t looking at the full picture.

“What stopped you,” he asks.

“Jaime did.” Bart looks down at the phone. “Or I guess,  _ really,  _ he didn’t. He was going to let me kill him and that meant….well, that meant  _ he  _ wasn’t the thing I wanted to kill. Like I said, it’s complicated.” 

Len thinks he’s starting to understand that now.

“The thing is,” Bart continues, the words getting faster now like he’s rushing to confess a secret, “I thought he’d hate me. I thought that after everything I did, after what I  _ almost  _ did, I thought there was no way he’d even want to be in the same room as me. But, instead, he’s just…. _ Jaime _ . He keeps checking on me and trying to talk and….”

_ Ah. _

“He forgave you,” Len guesses.

Because sometimes there’s nothing harder to accept than forgiveness you don’t feel you’ve earned.

Bart nods, hunching into himself. “Everything’s backwards. Everything about this place is so different and  _ nice  _ and….I don’t know how to fit in here. I don’t know what to do, all I know how to do is  _ act  _ like I do. But, Jaime knows what I am and so I don’t understand why he still wants….” The kid cuts himself off and looks up at Len with a kind of frustrated helplessness. “I don’t understand how he can forgive me? Why he’d even want to?”

Len’s known Bart for just over a month. Tonight is the first time that Len can truly see the cracks running down the kid’s mask. The desperation behind the bravado. The loss. It makes Len feel….the oddest sense of second hand regret.

Kids, especially ones like Bart, should never doubt why someone wants them around.

Len clears his throat. “Sometimes it’s not about whether or not you  _ deserve _ forgiveness. It’s about making the most out of that second chance.”

Bart lift his lips in a half smile. “I still don’t understand.”

“No.” Len reaches out to the card deck and pulls out the king of clubs--the card he’d drawn what seems like hours ago. “But, some things you don’t have to understand.”

  
  
  


\-----

Sometimes plans go wrong.

Plans go wrong and people get hurt.

His  _ family  _ gets hurt.

“Len,” Lisa says softly, reaching out to touch his hand. “Mick’s going to be fine. Hartley says the first bullet went through and through and the second one….well, we’ve still got a few bags of Mick’s blood type in storage. Hartley will be able to fix him back up, I promise.”

The Beretti’s were ready for them. What should have been a simple show of force to five of the Beretti’s top enforcers ended with Mick bleeding out in a fucking abandoned meat factory and the rest of the Rogues involved in an all out gun fight.

They won. Even in failure, Len’s plans have contingencies built onto contingencies. If not, they’d all be dead.

“I’m going to kill them,” Len grits out. “Every last one of them.”

“No, you won’t,” Lisa says firmly. “Rogue’s don’t kill. We’re smarter than that. And we’re not changing who we are for bastards like the Beretti’s.”

Len stands up so fast he nearly knocks the chair down as he begins to pace. “Then, what do you want me to do, huh, Lis? The Beretti’s nearly killed Mick--killed all of us. We  _ failed.  _ Just like we’ve failed to find so much as a single fucking picture of the new Flash. Maybe I was wrong. If all it was going to do is fuck things up for us, maybe we should’ve stayed as far away from Central as we possibly could.”

Lisa stands up to grab his shoulders. “Len, shut up! This is our home; we were always going to come back.”

Len pulls away from her.

Lisa’s right. He knows she’s right. One failure won’t stop them.  _ Can’t  _ stop them. But….Mick’s blood is still staining under his fingernails and he can still hear the ring of bullets in his ears.

Another failed plan.

  
  
  


\-----

Len doesn’t go back to the Flash museum on Wednesday. Or the week after that. Or that month.

He’s been an idiot. 

He doesn’t have time to help lost kids. He’s not  _ good  _ at helping lost kids. It’s not what he’s built for. He’s built for meticulous plans, intricate robberies, and being fast and smart enough to keep even speedsters on their toes.

So, that’s what he focuses on.

Mick’s out of commission for the next month; most of the fight already is going to be making sure the hothead stays that way long enough for the bullet holes to heal. 

As for the Beretti’s, the heads of the organization received an unexpected visit from the new Impulse barely three days after their fight with the Rogues. The entire family’s tied up in legal work and house arrest for the next few months and Len’s practically itching for them to get back in the game. For them to be back on the street so the Rogues can show them what it  _ really  _ means to hurt one of their own.

Until then, Len’s playing the waiting game. 

And like it always does when there’s nothing else to think about, his mind turns to Central’s resident speedster.

_ Impulse.  _

That’s the reason the Rogues are even back in Central City and Len thinks it’s high time to start a new plan.

All of which leads him to Chubbuck street and a hole in the wall pizza shop with a sign on the window reading,  _ Free pizza for speedsters! _

The sign itself isn’t unusual, a good half the restaurants in Central have them, have had them for years even when there weren’t any speedsters left in the city. The unusual part is that, according to word on the street, this sign actually gets used.

There’s always the hope that if this Impulse likes the restaurant so much in uniform, he might like it just as much out of it.

To tell the truth, Len’s more here for the headspace rather than any hope Impulse will actually show. There’s something he enjoys about looking at the surroundings and trying to picture the man who would be attracted to it.

In his booth, Len glances around at the other patrons and wonders. Impulse is a male, likely mid-twenties to thirties, in shape, and--if Len had to bet--probably with that same bright do-gooder kind of air that all the superheroes seem to wear like cologne.

“Hey.”

Len jumps, turning to the familiar voice with the feeling like his gut’s dropping.

Bart looks different outside of the quiet of the museum. He’s smaller somehow, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders hunched, and smile subdued.

“What are you doing here,” Len blurts out before he can help himself.

Bart gives a small smile at the familiar words. “I could ask you the same thing.” He shrugs. “I like the pizza. Can I sit?”

Len doesn’t want him to. He wants Bart to get as far away from the Rogues as possible so Len doesn’t have to deal with another life in his hands. But then, the kid’s stomach growls like he hasn’t eaten in months and just ran a marathon and Len finds himself waving him to the table before he can think twice.

“You weren’t at the museum this week,” Bart says as he sits. “Or last week.”

“Had other things to do,” Len mutters, pushing a plate of pizza in the kid’s direction.

He pokes at it rather than eating. His stomach growls again. Loudly.

Len glares. “For the sake of my eardrums, kid,  _ eat. _ ”

Bart obligingly takes a bite and the silence falls back around them.

The kid chews slowly before swallowing. “....was it because of what I said?”

“What,” Len says because the kid’s barely said ten words since he got here. Which in and of itself is weird for Bart.

“Did you stop coming to the museum because of what I told you last time?” Bart looks down at the pizza again. “About what I nearly did to Jaime.”

_ Oh.  _ And now doesn't Len feel like the biggest asshole in the entire city. He knew he wasn’t built for this.

“No, kid,” Len says slowly but firmly. “Trust me, I’ve seen too many bad things to be upset at ‘almosts’ and ‘maybes’. If this Jaime kid forgives you, far be it for me to try to judge.”

Bart looks at him for a second, clearly judging on whether he believes him or not. 

Len just stares back at him, not lowering his gaze.

Whatever he’s looking for, Len must pass because Bart goes back to eating the pizza, this time with his usual smile back across his face.

“So, why’d you stop showing up, you jerk?”

Len sighs. “Because I’m not a good guy to be around.”

Because people get hurt when he’s around and sometimes there’s nothing Len can do to prevent it. Because his best friend was shot in the leg, inches away from an artery, and Len almost watched him bleed out. Because criminals don’t get to play friends with a kid just looking for a hero.

Len’s not the hero. He’s the villain.

Bart snorts. “Don’t seem that bad to me. And the free pizza kind of sales it.”

“You don’t know a thing about me, kid,” Len grounds out, expression serious. If there’s one thing he needs Bart to understand, it’s this. “You have no idea the kind of person I am. I’m  _ not  _ a good guy to be around, Bart. I’m not a hero. And I’m definitely not the type of person you need to hang around. You understand?”

Bart chews on his pizza idly. “Oh, so is this about your Captain Cold stuff?”

Len swears his heart nearly stops.

“What do you mean,” he says a touch too slow.

“You know,” Bart waves a hand dismissively, “are you trying to warn me away because of how you’re Captain Cold?”

“Stop saying that.” Len swears, looking around the restaurant to see if anyone’s listening. Fortunately, no one seems the least bit interested in the strange kid casually calling out one of  _ Central City’s most wanted _ in a fucking pizza parlor. “How do you know that?”

Bart stares at him like he’s an idiot. “Are you kidding me? Your name’s public record. We literally met at the Flash museum. There’s an entire  _ exhibit  _ dedicated to you! I’ve known since we met.”

Len feels simultaneously like he’s unexpectedly fallen into an open manhole and slammed face first into a wall.

He stares.

Bart shrugs again. “So, yeah, if it’s about that, don’t worry, I’m not concerned.”

“You’re not concerned,” Len repeats blankly.

“Nah.”

“I’m a  _ supervillain _ and this doesn’t concern you at all,” Len says again, incredulous. “I have the record for most successful crimes ever pulled off in Central and you’re  _ not concerned. _ ”

“Yeah, but they’re all just like robberies. I don’t really care about stealing. I’ve had to do that before, too, back before--” Bart pauses. “Though, dude, really, how much money do you possibly need?! Like it’s one thing to steal food, it’s another thing to steal  _ a bank _ ! Donate that money to a food bank or a homeless shelter or something. Crash the mode!”

Len can’t believe he’s sitting in the middle of a pizza parlor, being told off by a fourteen year old for not spending his stolen assets  _ responsibly. _

“I’m a bad guy, Bart,” he says one more time. “I need you to understand that. You shouldn’t be around me.”

Bart’s face softens. “No, Len, you’re really not. Believe me, I know evil and you?….You’re not even close.”

For as second, Len flounders as Bart smiles again and turns back to eating his pizza.

“Bart,” Len says quietly, “no matter what you think about me now, if you stay around long enough, you’re going to get hurt. That’s just how these things go.”

Bart sighs, looking down and there’s a long moment where Len thinks the words have finally sunk in. That Bart will leave and go on to live a safe, somewhat normal life and Len will still be here, playing cops and robbers with meta humans. The way things are supposed to be.

And then, Bart looks up and there’s something dark in his eyes now, not something added, more like...like absence. Like dropping a mask.

“Len…,” Bart says, smiling ruefully, “being around you is so low on dumb things I’ve done in my life that it doesn’t even count. Don’t worry about me, I’ve survived….well,  _ a lot  _ worse than anything in Central. You’re not a bad guy. You’re my friend.”

Len stares at Bart, suddenly feeling a weight in his gut that is so much worse than the one a few moments ago.

Unaware, Bart grins at him, seriousness evaporating like clouds on a sunny day. “See you at the museum next Wednesday, okay? Don’t make me track you down?”

And Len...Len nods, mind already stuck on Bart’s last words.

Bart’s not normal.

Len knew that. He  _ knows  _ that. And yet, abruptly, Len comes to another realization. The jagged pieces fitting together to form something larger and far more worrying.

At some point in Bart Allen’s life something went very,  _ very  _ wrong. 

Wrong enough that he hides in museums, almost kills his friends, and talks casually with super criminals as if it’s normal. 

So, no, it’s not just that something  _ went  _ wrong in Bart’s life. Len has the gut feeling that it’s still happening.

Len’s not the good guy.

He’s not. He’s  _ not. _

But...he’s going to find out what. Even if it means sticking around long enough for the kid to tell him.

Len nods. “Yeah, kid, see you Wednesday.”

  
  
  


\-----

Len makes it back to the renovated warehouse with his neck still weighed down in thoughts.

Of course, it’s his team, so, they never let him actually think  _ quietly  _ for long.

Axel’s the first one that sees him and stops dead, turning to yell down to the kitchen. “Hey, guys! Guys! Len’s stopped brooding! He’s got his planning face back on!”

Mark sticks his head out next, staring at Len hard before he laughs. “Kid’s right! Fucking finally, thought you were going to be all mopey for another month.”

One day Len’s going to murder his team and not a jury in the world would convict him.

“Tell him to come in here,” Mick calls from the kitchen. “Can’t get anywhere with this frickin’ cast in the way.”

Because it’s Mick and Mick  _ will  _ irritate his injury if not, Len sullenly makes his way to the kitchen.

Lisa turns up from her magazine, takes one look and smiles softly. “Glad to have you back, Lenny.”

Beside her, Sam grins wide in a way that’s ridiculous for a man in his thirties. “So, what’s the new plan? How are we catching Impulse?”

“Still working on it,” Len says coolly.

He does admittedly take some joy in watching his team deflate.

“Aww,” Axel slumps at the table, “and I thought he was done with his brooding mood.”

Lisa squints at him before nodding decisively. “No, he is. That’s definitely his idea face. Mick?”

“Lis’ is right,” Mick confirms, already distracted with jamming a fork to scratch under his cast. Hartley grabs it, frowning like Mick just violated the Geneva Conventions.

“If it’s not the Flash, then what’s the plan,” Hartley asks.

That’s one of the things Len’s likes about Hartley. He’s always quick on the draw.

“We have a third goal now,” Len says, watching as the Rogues all sit a little straighter at that particular tone. “We catch Impulse, we make the Beretti’s wish they’d never even heard of Central, and….” 

He glares at his team, daring a single one of them to make a joke, “....we find out everything we can on Bart Allen.”

  
  
  


\-----

Len goes back to the museum on Wednesday.

“Hey,” Bart says and Len doesn’t have to try hard to hear the relief, “you made it.”

Len leans against the rail, folding his arms. “I told you I would, kid. Besides, something tells me you’d have hunted me down anyway.”

Bart grins. “...well, yeah, maybe. What can I say? You’re interesting company and I’m booooored. No escape, Len. This is your life now.”

Len rolls his eyes hard enough to make Bart snicker.

“Okay, so I have a question,” Bart leans beside him on the rail. “So, I know that you’re Captain Cold and now you know that I know that you’re Captain Cold and I know that you know that I know you’re Captain--”

“Get to the point, Bart.”

“ _ Anyway _ ,” the kid is practically hopping on his feet now, “does that mean I can get the cool stories now?”

Len raises an eyebrow. “The cool stories?”

Bart nods excitedly. “Yeah! You know! You versus the Flash! The awesome ones. I want to know everything!”

Len tilts his head, considering, when a plan suddenly stitches together in his mind.

“ _ Fine _ ,” he says, drawing out the word, “one one condition. Remember what I said about sweetening the pot?”

Bart snorts. “I’m not showing you the card trick again.”

“I’ve got something better. A question for a question.” Len smirks. “Every question I answer, I get to ask you one. No lies. Deal?”

There’s more than one way to get information. And sometimes, the simplest way’s the best of all.

Bart doesn’t answer immediately, taking longer to think than Len’s ever seen him take.

“Deal,” Bart agrees, “but, you got to promise something, too.”

“What?”

The kid gives a quiet sort of smile.

“Promise me you won’t hate me if you get an answer you don’t like.”

Len frowns. This kid.

“I’m not going to hate you, Bart. I promise.”

Between the beats of a second, Bart’s back to the sunny, wide smile as if the quiet moment never happened.

“Awesome! Me, first. When’s the first time you met the Flash?”

Len hums, tilting his head back until he’s looking at the statue. “Pretty boring story, actually. Was just out of my second stint in Iron Heights. Thought the Flash was a fairytale or maybe just some overzealous fans trying to copy the first Flash. Either way didn’t think it was anything real. Planned a normal bank robbery, nothing major, didn’t even get Mick involved. Flash had me in handcuffed five minutes after the alarm was pulled.” He gives a crooked smile. “After that….well, I never have been able to resist a challenge.”

He looks back at Bart, somewhat surprised to see the kid watching him with an oddly focused look, like he’s memorizing every word Len says.

Len shakes it off. “My turn. What’s your full name?”

Bart’s face scrunches up. “Ugh, that’s such a boring one!”

“My question, my rules. Fess up, kid.”

“Bartholomew Wallace Allen.” Bart huffs. “ _ Bartholomew _ , ick. It’s a family name so I guess they kind of had to pick it; but, seriously? Even Grandpa hated it.”

“What about Wallace?”

“Also, a family name. That one I like more. Now, stop cheating! It’s my turn. What did you do after you met him?”

“Other than breaking out of jail?” Len thinks back, a reminiscent thrill and a trace of melancholy coming along with the memory. “I called Mick. We didn’t even have the ideas for the guns yet; but, we started planning. Tracked down his movements, stole some police radios, shook down some of his previous arrests. Honestly, I don’t even know if Mick believed me half the time. No one in the city was reporting on him yet. Only the crackpots and the tabloids. It’s one thing to see Metropolis’ flying man on the news or hear about Gotham’s vigilante, it’s something else to believe someone’s breaking the laws of physics in your hometown.”

“Why did he hide,” Bart asks.

“That’s another question,” Len says but answers anyway. “No idea. Not like we talked about it over coffee. I suppose for the same reason Impulse hides. You never really know how people will react to super powers.”

“That’s not why Impulse hides,” Bart says immediately.

“And how do you know that?”

Bart grins. “Is that your question?”

Len snorts. “Nice try, kid. I’m not letting you dodge the real questions, speculating about Impulse.”

For some reason, Bart laughs so loud the sound echoes against the windows.

“Okay, sure,” Bart settles down. “Ask your  _ real  _ question, then.”

“Have you always lived in Central?”

Bart shakes his head. “Nah, I only got here like a few months ago. I’ve always  _ wanted  _ to live here though. Just, um, when I was growing up it...wasn’t really an option.”

“Why do you live here now?”

Bart gives the quiet smile again, half a second and then, it’s gone.

“My family’s from here,” he says.

“Do you--”

“That’s two questions.” Bart frowns. “Actually, no, that’s  _ three  _ questions. You’re definitely cheating!”

“Technically, I answered two last time.”

“Still a cheater.” Bart points. “Next question, how’d Central finally find out about the Flash?”

Len rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows that story.”

“I want to hear it from you. You were there.”

“Fine.” Len sighs. “Mick and I were getting tired of playing catch with a ghost. I’d heard Star Labs were working on experiments with cyclotron, something cold enough to slow particles even moving at accelerated speeds.” Len winks. “After an introduction like that, hard to resist giving it a minor test run.”

He can still remember it, too. The bright blue of the untreated chemicals, the trials and failures as he worked them into his cold gun. The speed, the chase, the...everything that his life has been sorely missing the past six years.

“We stole the cyclotron, made the cold gun, got Mick set up with a modified blow torch, and found our target.”

Bart’s eyes gleam. “Picture News.”

“Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“Sorry.” Bart laughs. “It’s just...my grandma worked there for awhile.”

Len files that away for later, going back to his story. “Picture News. We wanted to make sure that when we faced the Flash this time, the whole world would know. So, we iced some reporters, set up a camera and waited. Flash shows up. Cold gun works beautifully. We get him frozen in his shiny yellow boots and broadcast to every television in Central before one of the news interns pulls the fire alarm and shorts out the gun’s mechanics.”

Bart smirks and Len glares. “It was a prototype. I hadn’t had time to work out all the kinks yet.”

“Guess you could say you jumped the gun,” Bart asks innocently. “Too  _ quick  _ to the draw? Ooh, needed to chill out a bit?”

Len rolls his eyes. “I heard enough of the puns from  _ him _ .”

If anything, Bart just grins brighter.

“Anyway, the plan was a success overall,” Len finishes. “The guns worked perfectly. Everyone knew that the Flash existed. And we made a clean escape by the time he worked out how to get out of the ice.” He glances back once again at the statue. “It was...a good match.”

Bart’s grin shifts into a small smile.

“My turn,” Len says. “Do you live with your family now?”

Bart hesitates.

“Come on, kid, you know the rules.”

“I know, I know,” Bart reassures, “that’s just...a bit of a harder question than you think. I mean I don’t really  _ live  _ with any one person. Not really. Not since I lived with my cousin. He was the best.”

“Why don’t you live with him then?”

“He died,” Bart says shortly.

“Ah.”

“It was years ago.” Bart shakes his head. “I guess it’s more like I don’t like to stay in one place that long. It makes me antsy. So, like, yeah, I mean half the time I stay with...I guess he’s kind of like my adopted grandfather? But, then, sometimes, that gets boring. So, I go to stay with friends or at the Tow--anyway, I just move around a bit. I like it better that way.”

Len’s not sure if that makes him feel better or not.

“Okay, my turn,” Bart says hastily. “One more question, alright?”

Len lets out a slow exhale, already thinking out answers for old plans and narrow chases buried under memories Len hasn’t thought of in years. He misses those years before Invasions and death rays snatched them away.

“Alright, Bart, ask your question.”

“Do you miss him?” Bart’s face goes abruptly serious. “The Flash. Do you miss him?”

Len stops.

The statue still standing above him, almost like it’s waiting for the answer, too.

As if Len really needs to think about it.

“.....yeah, kid. Yeah, I miss him.”

Bart nods, looking satisfied.

“Last question, huh?” 

Len thinks. The thing is there’s so many questions he wants to ask Bart, so many answers that will make finding his paper trail so much easier. So many helpful questions. So, Len’s not sure why he ends up asking what he does.

He clears his throat. “After you found out I was Captain Cold, why’d you come back the first time?”

Bart frowns. “I told you, you’re--”

“Don’t give me that you’re not a bad guy crap.” Len shakes his head. “You didn’t even know me, then, and you’re not enough of an idiot to trust every criminal who can hold a decent conversation. That  _ first  _ time. Why’d you come back?”

Bart looks down.

Len waits.

“I was curious,” Bart says finally. “You know my cousin used to tell me stories about the Flash. Every day. Whenever things were rough. Stories about the Flash and the League and Gorilla Grodd and...and the Rogues.” The kid gives a sheepish grin. “The ones with the Flash and the Rogues were always my favorite because it always seemed like….it never got too bad, you know? There were rules and challenges; but, they were fun and...well, it always seemed more like a game. Like everything would turn out okay.” Bart shrugs. “I guess I just wanted to meet the other half of those stories.”

Len swallows. “And what do you think now.”

Bart hesitates again.

“I think that I like this better than stories.”

  
  
  


\-----

Len stares. 

“What do you mean you can’t find him?”

Hartley huffs, pointing down at his laptop. “I’m saying that as far as a paper trail, ‘Bartholomew Wallace Allen’ doesn’t exist. No birth certificate, no school records, no immunizations, not even a freaking library card.  _ If  _ any of it ever existed, someone’s done the most thorough job of covering it up I’ve ever seen outside of career criminals.”

Len frowns. “Are you sure you’ve looked everywhere?”

Hartley gives him a flat look. “No, Len, I earned doctorates in physics, biology, and engineering by being woefully incompetent at research.”

“His family’s from Central,” Len mutters more to himself than Hartley. “Look up other Allens in Central and Keystone.”

Hartley looks at him like he’s insane. “It’s Allen, Len! Why don’t you just have me look up Brown and Smith while you’re at it. There’s  _ thousands! _ ”

Axel wanders up to lean over the back of the couch. “Maybe he’s a ghost? You know someone the Flash couldn’t save so now he haunts the Flash museum for all eternity. That would be cool.”

“Ghosts don’t eat pizza,” Len answers in driest voice he can possibly muster. He turns back to Hartley. “What about other Bartholomew Allens. It’s a family name.”

“Already ahead of you.” Hartley pulls up a new tab. “ _ And  _ you owe me big time because this one had me hack into the police database.”

Half asleep on the recliner, Mick snorts. “As if you hadn’t done that already.”

Hartley doesn’t deign to answer, already pulling up a picture of a blond man with a dorky smile and a bow tie. “Bartholomew Henry Allen, former CSI with the CCPD.”

By now, the entire team is more or less looking down at the laptop or listening in.

Mark is the first to comment. “Looks like a nerd.”

“It says here he held dual masters in chemistry and biology,” Hartley says. “So, yes, ‘nerd’ would be a fairly adequate summary.”

“Aww, I think he’s kind of cute,” Lisa coos. “Look at the little red bow tie! Adorable!”

“I could get a bow tie,” Sam says quickly.

Len ignores them, looking hard at the picture. There  _ is  _ something of Bart there. Something in the eyes, the shape of the face. Something that makes Len think of an older version of Bart.

“Former,” Len repeats. “Did he move?”

“He died,” Hartley answers. “During the Invasion. Both him and his wife.”

“Pull up a picture of the wife,” Len orders.

A click and there’s another picture beside the blond man, a woman with dark red hair and a mischievous sort of smile.

It’s Bart’s smile. Len knows it.

“Iris West-Allen,” Hartley reports, “formerly of GBS News.”

“How old were they,” Len asks, leaning to look closer.

“What? When they died?” Hartley pulls up a mass obituary article. “Um, he was 35, she was 29. Why? Think they’re related to your kid?”

“Not my kid,” Len says, already thinking through the math.

Bart would’ve been roughly seven during the Invasion. The ages would work, maybe…

“Any kids?”

Hartley shakes his head. “No kids. They only got married four years before the Invasion.”

That’s not right. Len knows it. He can feel it. There’s a link.

“Find her medical records,” he says. “See if there were any adoptions.  _ Anything  _ out of the ordinary.”

Hartley gives a put upon sigh, obediently typing away on the laptop.

Len waits.

Lisa leans next to him. “So, you find out who the kid’s family is. What next, Lenny?”

“We see what he’s involved in,” he answers. “Find out what’s wrong in the kid’s life, fix it, and then move on.”

“Move on?”

Len nods. “We’re criminals, Lis’. It’s not safe.

Lisa hums in that way she has where she thinks he’s being deliberately obtuse but isn’t going to call him on it.

“You should bring him here,” she says suddenly. “Let us meet him.”

“That is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“You want us to find out what’s wrong, right,” his sister counters. “Lot easier to find out information when we know the target.”

Len stares at her. “You want me to bring a fourteen year old kid to a renovated warehouse we’re using as a base to bring down a crime family and a superhero.”

“It’s a very nice warehouse,” Lisa says innocently. “Plenty of room and, really, Len, where’s safer than with Central City’s best gang?”

Axel perks up suddenly. “Bring him! I’m tired of being the youngest!”

“We’re not getting him involved,” Len says firmly.

Lisa laughs. “Lenny, we’re investigating his family tree. I think we’re already involved.”

“Found it,” Hartley calls out before Len can answer. “Nothing shady in her medical file. And, before you ask, nothing on his either. In fact….,” Hartley turns the screen to Len. “Seven years before the Invasion, Bartholomew ‘Barry’ Allen was in a coma for a little over a year and Iris West was the anchor on her college’s news station. Hard to hide a pregnancy when you’re on the news every night or unconscious in a hospital.”

Len frowns at the screen, explanations running through his head. “Other family?”

Hartley types it in. “Um, let’s see. Her mom died when she was in college, dad a few years after the Invasion. One brother, Rudolph West--him, his wife, and one son. All dead in the Invasion. I’ll send you the file. As for Barry Allen…,” Hartley pulls back from the screen. “Oh, shit. Okay, wow.”

Mick cracks an eye open. “What?”

“Mom died as a kid, father framed for the murder, spends twenty years in prison before son finally finds enough evidence to exonerate him.” Hartley lets out a low whistle. “Picture News published a whole article on it. The guy’s life reads like a crime drama.”

Mark nods sagely. “And that’s why you should never trust the CCPD.”

“Does the Allen guy being a CSI still count as the CCPD solving it,” Sam muses.

“No.”

Hartley winces. “Looks like the guy’s dad died a couple years ago, too. Cancer. Hmm, is it weird that I’m starting to feel sad for a bunch of dead people?”

“Maybe you’re finally developing empathy,” Sam comments.

“Perish the thought.”

Lisa turns to Len. “Well, what do you think? Is there a link to your kid?”

Len stares down at the screen. 

Barry Allen and Iris West-Allen. Rudolph and Mary West with their son, Wallace.

There  _ is  _ a link.

The problem is that, like with all things Bart Allen, any answer means ten more questions.

Len’s fairly sure the kid’s going to give him a permanent headache.

  
  
  


\-----

The Flash statue stares down at him as Len checks his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes.

It’s Wednesday.

Around him, the museum is cold and quiet. Dead in a way that Len’s not used to finding it, like the energy was sucked out.

Len checks his watch again, almost eleven, two hours after he first got here.

Bart’s not here.

The kid’s  _ always  _ here. Grinning or quiet or giving Len a heart attack, Bart always shows up.

Len glares up the statue and finds the Flash looking down at him, almost daring Len to do something just like the man himself did whenever he got an itch in his spandex that Len should be doing more with his life. That the Rogues should be more than villains.

“Yeah, Scarlet,” he drawls, “because look where being a hero got you. Dead and in granite.”

The kid’s not coming.

Len kicks at the edge of the statue before turning to leave.

There’s an explanation. There  _ better  _ be a fucking explanation.

The kid’s fine. Maybe he just forgot what day it is or lost track of time finding a new stupid card trick or...or… The kid’s  _ fine.  _

The kid better be fine.

He throws open the door to the warehouse with more force than is strictly necessary.

Mark looks up from his beer. “Yo, Len, check it out! Your guy’s on TV.”

“What?” 

Len jerks his head up only to see news coverage of the Titans flying across the screen.

“There’s a fire on the west coast,” Axel says excitedly, eyes still glued to the television. “FEMA called in the Titans. Apparently, Impulse is on rescue. Think we’ll actually get to see him?”

“No,” Len says shortly and unreasonably annoyed. “Not on a rescue mission.”

He doesn’t bother looking to see Axel’s pout instead grabbing the latest files on the Allens and Wests and sitting in his chair to glare at them.

Mick pokes at him. “What’s got you in a mood?”

Len glares harder at the files.

“How’s your kid,” Sam asks.

Len finally looks up. “He’s. Not. _ My.  _ Kid.”

Sam shudders and Lisa comes to stand in front of him, crossing her arms. “Don’t bite Sam’s head off just because you’ve got your head in your ass, Lenny. What happened with Bart?”

“ _ Nothing  _ happened to Bart.” Len turns to the next page. “....he wasn’t at the museum.”

There's a long pause that prickles at the back of Len’s neck.

“Well,” Hartley starts, “he  _ is  _ a teenager. It’s not like they’re known for keeping a schedule.”

Sam nods eagerly. “Yeah, he could’ve just forgot. Right?”

Bart’s never forgotten before.

Len makes a noncommittal noise.

Mark waves his beer haphazardly. “Kid’s  _ fine,  _ Len. Probably just hotwiring a sports car or spray painting a wall or whatever it is kids do for fun. Watch it. Next week, he’ll show up and not even say anything about it.”

“That’s not like Bart,” Len mutters.

Axel makes a face. “Can’t Sam just find him in the mirrors?”

“It’s not that easy. I need a place.” Sam huffs. “I don’t even know what the kid looks like.”

Lisa hums. “Well, maybe you would if Len ever bothers to actually let us meet--”

“Lis,” Len warns and his sister holds up her hands in surrender. 

Axel’s eyes light up. “Oh! I got it! Maybe the kid’s a spy!”

“He’s fourteen years old,” Hartley scoffs.

“That’s why no one would expect him!”

“Bart’s not a spy,” Len says. “He’s just….”

He’s just  _ something _ .

An old file, far thicker than the previous one, lands in Len’s lap along with his notebook.

“Here,” Mick grunts. “Work on the Impulse stuff before you drive us  _ all  _ crazy worrying about a kid we don’t even know needs worrying about.”

  
  
  


\-----

Len is standing on the roof of the warehouse, taking in the general brightness that is Central City as he reviews everything they have on Impulse.

There’s a creak as the door is edged open.

“I knew you’d be up here.” Lisa sits down beside him, hanging her legs off the edge. 

“It helps me think,” Len says because it does, something about seeing the city from a birds eye view makes everything seem more malleable, manageable with the right plan and the proper amount of willpower.

He leans down to sit next to his sister.

She smiles at him. “Do you remember when we were little and you’d drag me up to our apartment roof every night to look at the stars? And when I asked you why, you’d tell me it was because every princess needed a tower.”

Len nods. “I did it because Dad was too drunk to climb the stairs.”

“I know; I figured that out later.” She leans her head on his shoulder. “Why don’t you want Bart to meet us?”

“You know why, Lisa,” he says. “The Rogues weren’t made for taking in lost kids.”

Lisa pauses. “You can’t really believe that. Can you, Lenny?

“What do you mean?”

“The Rogues.” Lisa laughs to herself. “Honestly, Lenny. Not even taking in you, me, and Mick. We’ve got Mark, who we both know would’ve been killed by the cartels if he hadn’t joined up with us first. Hartley, who’s parents kicked him out barely after he turned eighteen. Sam, who had about a 50/50 chance of getting himself shattered to pieces as he did getting the mirrors to work. And Axel who--you know I love him--but has his head so far in the clouds it’s lucky we found him before he got blown up with his own explosives.”

“What’s your point, Lis?”

“My point,” Lisa says, “is that the Rogues have  _ always  _ been about taking in lost kids. We almost do it more than stealing.”

Len frowns. “Bart’s a bit younger than our usual recruits.”

His sister rolls her eyes. “I’m not saying take him to rob a bank, Len. I’m saying invite the kid to dinner.” 

“Why are you so set on this,” Len asks.

“Because you care about him. Is it really so crazy to think I want to help him, too?” Lisa shakes her head, standing up and dusting the gravel off of her jeans. “Len, if he really needs the kind of help you think he does, then you’re not doing anything keeping him at arm's length.”

Len stares up at her. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Then, let us _ help _ you. That’s what the Rogues are about.”

Len doesn’t answer and his sister sighs.

“Fine, Len, fine, be your usual prickly self about it until you can admit one of us is right.” Lisa looks out into the city. “Just ask yourself one thing. When you were a kid like Bart, is there anything you wanted more than to talk to someone that could understand?”

“I’ll think about it,” he says more to end the conversation than anything.

She smiles, half in exasperation. “You know, Lenny, I’ve known you my entire life and  _ still  _ I can’t understand why you insist on keeping the best parts of yourself hidden.”

  
  
  


\-----

Next Wednesday, Bart’s back at the museum---whole, healthy, and undeniably alive. 

Len doesn’t know if he feels more relieved or annoyed.

The kid grins at him. “Hey, Len! You miss me?”

“Where were you?”

“Around.” Bart shrugs. “Some friends of mine needed help.”

“Friends, huh,” Len says and, maybe, he’s being paranoid but he immediately thinks of the Gotham scum trying to pull in kids as drug runners. “What kind of help?”

“The urgent kind,” Bart answers brightly. 

Len narrows his eyes.

“Kid,” he grounds out. “You being safe?”

Bart laughs. “Is anyone ever totally safe?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s a stupid question.”

Len glares. “Bart.”

Bart gives a half a smile. “Trust me, Len, I’m safer now than I’ve ever been in my life. You don’t have to worry about me.”

As if that’s going to do anything except make Len worry more.

“Hey, so, um,” Bart says suddenly, running a hand through his wild hair, “I was thinking and, ah, I just kind of wanted to say thanks.”

“Thanks,” Len repeats skeptically.

“Yeah,” Bart kicks at the ground with his perpetually beat up sneakers, “you know for...ah, showing up at an empty museum every week and, well, listening even when….,” the kid waves a hand through the air distractedly. “It’s just I know I can be a lot sometimes and I guess I probably don’t make sense half the time; but, thanks for showing up anyway and listening and for….and for telling me stories about the Flash. I...I  _ really  _ appreciate those.”

Shit.

“I’m sure you have other people who would listen, Bart,” Len says, more as a last ditch effort.

“Well, yeah, er...I mean, yeah, definitely,” Bart says and Len almost thinks he’s going to be able to get away with it, “but, I mean this is a bit different ,you know. It’s nice…,” the kid blows a piece of hair out of his face, caught in a complicated expression. “It’s just sometimes I get the feeling that most people keep expecting me to be….well, more like my grandpa and cousin. Or looking at me and wondering why I’m not. And that’s not really fair to them because I’m  _ never  _ going to be like them. They were amazing. And, well,” Bart shrugs, “at least, when I talk to you, I know you don’t expect me to be. You understand why I can’t be.” 

_ Shit.  _ Len hates it when Lisa’s right. 

Len sighs heavily, pulling out his phone and typing out a quick message.

“Come on, kid,” he mutters, slipping his phone back in his pocket, “let’s get out of this stupid museum.”

Bart rocks back on his heels, a brief and somewhat satisfying look of confusion flitting across his face. “You kidnapping me?”

Len rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Bart, I’m kidnapping you.”

“Awesome!”

Weird kid.

Len walks ahead, leading a path through the bright parts of Central’s commerce distract to the far less innocent parts of the city and, finally, to the unused factory warehouses.

Bart follows along happily, head turning this way and that like Len brought him to an amusement park instead of hunks of metal that always smell vaguely of kerosene.

“Bart,” Len says dryly. “I feel like I should remind you that, in general, you should  _ not  _ follow people blindly through dark alleys and abandoned buildings.”

Bart hums unconcerned. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m a pretty fast runner.”

“Not faster than a gun,” Len points out just to be contrary.

The kid laughs. “Don’t worry, I trust you not to shoot me unless you have a really good reason.”

This is such a terrible idea. Len’s going to regret this, he can feel it in his bones. It’s not even that the kid won’t get along with his team. No, it’s the opposite. The Rogues are going to  _ love  _ Bart. And Len can already tell he’s going to be the one who suffers from it.

He stops in front of the Rogues’ renovated factory and leans down to pick the lock.

Bart watches him. 

“You know,” the kid says casually, “if you really did take me here to murder me, I at least want a last meal.”

Len turns, hand on the door and sighs one last time. “You’re not being murdered; but, given the occasion, I still think it’s fitting to ask for last requests.”

Bart grins. “This is because I beat you in the card game, isn’t it?”

“You cheated.”

“That’s the point of the game!”

Len throws open the door instead of answering.

“IS THAT HIM?”

Bart’s eyes widen. “Wait--”

Len only has time to smirk before Lisa all but grabs the kid and pulls him inside.

“Well, shit, Len actually did it.” Mark calls back to the kitchen. “Hey, Sam, you owe me ten bucks!”

Bart is standing in the middle of the room, looking shell shocked, still in a way that means he’s debating running when Sam sticks out his hand. “I can’t believe Lis’ finally convinced Len to bring you. Bart Allen, right? Sam Scudder, kid, we’ve heard _ a lot  _ about you.”

Bart takes the hand hesitantly. “About me?”

Len will admit. It is kind of great to see  _ the kid  _ be the one off balance for once.

“Oh, trust me,” Hartley wanders over to smirk at Len, “our fearless leader practically wouldn’t shut up about some kid he met at the Flash museum.”

Ah, yes, and here is the moment that Len begins to regret it. He knew it would be here soon.

“...Oh?” Something clicks behind Bart’s eyes. “ _ Oh.  _ Wait, seriously? I thought--,” the kid turns up to Len. “The Rogues wanted to meet me? Like Bart Allen me?”

“Is there another you,” Len deadpans.

Mick punches Len’s shoulder. “Took you forever, Snart.”

Lisa ignores them all, focusing on Bart. “Hey, honey, I’m Lisa Snart, the grump one’s sister.”

“You’re Golden Glider,” Bart says, sounding awed. 

Lisa grins, all but preening. “Aww, Lenny, you didn’t tell us he was a fan.”

Len snorts. “You don’t have to be a ‘fan’ to read a wanted poster.”

“Wait,” Axel pushes forward, looking down at Bart. “Do you know who  _ I  _ am?”

“Axel Walker, the second Trickster,” Bart nods enthusiastically as he points to the rest of them. “Mick Rory, Heatwave. Mark Mardon, Weather Wizard. Sam Scudder, Mirror Master. Hartley Rathaway, Pied Piper.” Bart grins wide enough for Len to think that  _ maybe  _ this wasn’t a bad idea. “You’re the Rogues!”

Hartley snickers. “So, he is a fanboy! Cute, Snart.”

Len glares at him.

“My cousin used to tell me stories about all of you,” Bart says, smiling up at Lisa.

“Yeah?” Lisa winks. “Your cousin had good taste.”

“He’s shorter than me!” Axel is practically bouncing in place. “He’s younger than me  _ and  _ shorter! This is the best day of my life.”

“That’s so sad,” Hartley mocks.

“Shut up!”

Bart’s eyes are flying between all of them like he’s watching a tennis match and Len almost feels bad for basically throwing the kid to the wolves. He’d feel worse if Bart wasn’t….well, _ Bart _ . 

“I’m at the Rogues hideout,” Bart says to himself, so quietly only Len can hear. “I’m at the Rogues hideout. Dick’s going to kill me.” He lets out a little laugh. “This is so  _ crash _ .”

“Who’s Dick,” Len asks, keeping his voice low.

The kid blinks up at him before grinning, the manic excitement settling into Bart’s usual enthusiasm. “Now, Len, that’s a really mean thing to call someone! For shame!”

“Bart--”

“Wait! Wait!” Axel grabs Bart’s hand, pulling him off towards the kitchen. “Come on, you’re a fan--I can't believe I have a fan. I’m famous!--you’ve got to see my anti-gravity boots! They’re the most epic things ever  _ and  _ I just finished upgrading them!”

“Axel,” Mark calls, “don't blow the kid up the first night he meets us. That’s a monthly kind of thing.”

“You guys are the  _ worst _ ,” Axel complains. He turns to Bart. “Don’t listen to them. It’s not going to blow you up. Probably.”

Bart shrugs. “There are worse things.”

Axel smiles triumphantly. “ _ Exactly! _

“Axel,” Len warns.

“Sorry!”

Len wishes he regretted this more than he does.

When Bart finally gets pulled out to the kitchen, most of the other Rogues following behind to either stop or more likely watch the resulting explosion, Lisa comes to stand beside Len.

“I like him,” Lisa says simply.

Len rolls his eyes. “Don’t gloat.”

“A lady never gloats, she  _ relishes _ .” Lisa’s smile fades into something softer. “He’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

Lisa hums. “I’m not sure. I guess someone a little rougher around the edges like you and Mick used to be. Or colder and jaded like Hartley was when we first picked him up. That kid,” she shakes her head, laughing a little, “he looks like a harsh wind could blow him down and he’d fall down, laughing. I don’t know, he seems….sweet. Not what I expected.”

Len smiles. “Lis’, the one thing I know with absolute certainty about Bart Allen is that kid is  _ never  _ what’s expected.”


	2. The Return of the Rogues

Bart’s still weird. 

That’s a constant and even slowly coming to fit against an already strange group like the Rogues somehow doesn’t make the kid any less unusual.

“--and then, of course, I had to try out the lightning, right,” Mark says, gesturing animatedly from the other side of the counter.

Bart nods sagely. “Lightning’s a classic.”

“Exactly,” Mark snaps his fingers. “So, I got Flash and the Kid dodging the hail and then--BOOM!--entire place lights up like fireworks.”

“Did it work?”

Mick snorts, lighting a match off his cast and watching it burn down. “For all of ten seconds before Flasher redirected it and Mark’s wand got turned into electrified junk.”

Mark glares. “You didn’t have to mention that part.”

“Ten seconds is awhile when it comes to the Flash, though,” Bart offers and Mark grins at him, winking.

“See, the kid understands.”

“Not a kid.”

“Accept it,” Axel advises, coming around to sling an arm around Bart’s shoulders, “these assholes still call me a kid and I’m twenty-three.”

“We don’t call you a ‘kid’ for age, Axel, we do it because of your maturity,” Hartley drawls, not looking up from the wiring of his pipe.

Axel pouts, making to argue but Bart’s already distracted, looking at the machinery in front of Hartley. “What are you working on?”

Hartley shoots him a wink. “Something a little more advanced than high school robotics club, kid.”

Bart grins back. “Try me.”

“Ignore Hartley,” Lisa says, breezing in with Sam following behind her with takeout stacked in his arm almost higher than his head. “He always gets in a condescending mood when he’s working on a new invention.” She smiles. “Now, if you want something  _ really  _ interesting, have Len tell you about our plan to--”

“Wait, no!” Bart clamps his hands over his ears, shaking his head adamantly. “If it has to do with Impulse, don’t tell me! I want to be surprised.”

Sam tilts his head, sitting the take out on the counter. “You want to be surprised with...our robberies.”

Bart smiles, snaking a hand between them to reach for a container of nachos. “Just trust me, okay? Anything about Impulse or your robberies, I don’t want to hear about it until it makes the news. It’ll be more fun that way.”

Lisa ruffles his hair. “Cute.”

The rest of the Rogues crowd around the food, grabbing at the boxes like they were raised in the warehouse rather than just living in one. Len stays out of it, leaning against the wall and watching them instead.

“You’re not going to eat?”

Len jerks, surprised to see Bart suddenly beside him with a plate of food almost as big as his face. Something new that Len’s learned, Bart’s sneaky and quick when it comes to food.

“I’m waiting until it gets more civilized,” Len returns dryly.

“Aww,” Bart says between bites, “that’s no fun.”

Len rolls his eyes, looking back to his team, only to find a slight pressure around his waist, there for one second and then gone.

He turns back to Bart. “Did you just hug me?”

“What?” Bart widens his eyes, the picture of innocent. “Of course not, I didn’t move.”

Len narrows his eyes.

Bart just smiles. “Must have imagined it, Len. Probably food deprivation. You know you really should eat more. Growing supervillians need at least three meals a day, preferably with proportions--”

“Bart.”

“Hmm?”

Len shakes his head. “Nevermind, kid.”

  
  
  
  


\-----

Len checks his watch.

Minus Mick, the Rogues are all in position around Central City’s premier annual art gala. It’s the perfect target, funded by the most elite names in the city who even had the gall to claim that their newest security measures were so advanced only an idiot would try to steal them.

Ah, well, Hartley’s been complaining for ages that the home base needed more decor. Hard to do better than a few Rembrandts. 

Len taps his fingers to the beat of the seconds.

Granted, the paintings are only the secondary target. The  _ real  _ target Len’s hoping shows up roughly one minute and twelve seconds after the alarm’s triggered.

“Everyone in position,” Len asks under his breath.

“Wires to the security system cut and rerouted,” Hartley reports smugly over the comm.

“Almost got enough condensation built up for the distraction,” Mark says. “Axel says the explosives are a go, too.”

“And Sammy and I are ready on the roof,” Lisa adds. “Hope this goes well since  _ someone  _ decided to give away half of our savings.”

“Was only holding us back, Lis,” Len says with a smile. “Besides, imagine the look at our next hearing when they can’t reclaim assets anonymously donated to charity.”

“You’re a strange one, Snart,” Mark mutters. “Time to get this show on the road.”

Len exhales in one slow breath, just taking it in.

“Go.”

All at once, the security system starts blaring, a spontaneous rain storm starts up in the middle of the dance floor, and an army of tiny toy explosives start flooding around the guests letting off intermittent explosions.

It’s chaos. Perfect, well choreographed chaos.

Len ices the nearest two guards before they can even think of responding. “Hartley, the lights.”

The lights go out, only adding to the panic, and somewhere in the background Len can hear Sam and Lisa drop down from the roof and start unscrewing the paintings from the wall.

30 seconds. 

It shouldn’t take Lisa more than fifteen seconds to loosen each painting, plus an additional five seconds for Sam to open up another mirror portal. That means two paintings should already be good and secured before…

“Now,” Len orders.

The lights come on just in time for a streak of lightning to barrel into the museum.

_ Impulse. _

Len’s full out grinning now.

Time for Phase 2.

The tiny toy explosives all start exploding at once, mostly harmless but still causing the crowds to scream and rear back even as the storm above them starts to thunder and pour harder.

Impulse slows, threading in and out of the panicked guests as he tries to gather the rest of the toys. Five seconds and the toys have disappeared, Axel laughing wildly on the ground as he’s tied up with his own yo-yo string.

The streak of lightning goes after Mark next and he just has time to throw Len one last wink before the weather manipulator’s tied on the ground next to Axel.

Time for the endgame.

Len ices the floor at the same time the clouds let out one final roar, pouring the last deluge of water onto the freshly made ice. 

Impulse slips, skidding uncontrolled across the floor still so fast that lightning cocoons around him.

Lisa hits him from the side, gliding along the ice with a sharp smile and perfectly managed movements. Impulse takes the impact, the hit throwing him off course and slowing him down until the blur of lightning is hurtling in Len’s direction.

_ Almost. _

Impulse is getting up, lightning again going faster and faster around him and Len still has no idea what he looks like other than a massive ball of lightning.

That won’t do.

There’s a high pitched whistle, sending the crowd to their knees just as the windows explode into tiny harmless chips of glass. Len catches the small form of Hartley, still working in his position on the roof.

Impulse slows, the lightning dying down and….almost….

The face is still blurred, the body still managing to vibrate fast enough but Len can see it now, a human shape, no features yet distinguishable but undeniably human.

It’s the best sight anyone’s gotten of Impulse in the past few months.

Len’s still smirking in victory even as Impulse recovers and within ten seconds, Len finds himself on the ground with Hartley and Lisa on either side of him and Axel and Mark across from him.

Lisa turns to him. “We did it?”

Len nods, bringing his cuffed hands to tap his snow goggles where undeniably a recorded picture of a blurred face now resides.

Around them, the last streaks of lightning are gone. The gala attendants now cautiously glancing around even as the ring of police sirens echo against the museum walls.

Hartley shifts, turning to Lisa. “How many did you manage to get.”

“Just two,” Lisa tsks, “And I was  _ almost _ done with the third one, I swear. Just five more seconds.”

Mark hums. “Two’s not bad.”

“Who cares about some stupid paintings.” Axel rolls his eyes. “That was  _ fun! _ ”

A slow cap sounds around them just as a uniformed officer walks towards them. “Well, what do you know? The Rogues back at it again. Luckily our  _ Impulse _ knows how to handle washed up old criminals like you!”

“Aww, Hank,” the other officer frowns, looking at them, “isn’t there supposed to be a couple more of them?”

Len smirks just as the mirrored surface of the ice ripples around them.

  
  
  
  


\-----

Len stares at the picture with a smug kind of satisfaction.

It’s still mostly a blur, features largely indistinguishable. Len thinks he can make out brown hair and a flash of yellow that might be a pair of goggles. He thinks the man might be a hair shorter than average, but even that’s hard to tell at the angle and with the outlines blurred.

But still, it’s progress. It’s proof that the Rogues can still trick a speedster into being exactly where they need him to be.

Len loves when a game starts heating up.

In the living area of their main hideout, Hartley bites his lip, looking between the two pictures. “I can’t decide. What do you guys think? Keep the etching or the one from the Leiden period?”

“The second one,” Mick says, still propped up on the couch with his leg freshly out of the cast. “The painting from the whatever period. I like the colors, makes me wonder what they’d look like with fire.”

Hartley moves in front of the painting protectively. “ _ Okay, _ keeping the etching, it is. Where are we sending the other one?”

“Keystone children’s home,” Len says absently, “they’re holding a local auction to raise funds. Figure they won’t mind one minor addition.”

Mark laughs. “Lisa’s right, Len, you’ve gone all soft.”

Len raises an eyebrow. “Care to say that again?”

“Don’t eviscerate Mark, Lenny,” Lisa says, cheerfully stepping in between them. 

There’s a fast paced tap on the warehouse’s main door.

“If that’s the cops, I’m going to be very disappointed,” Hartley says.

“As if Central cops would ever be that fast,” Mark snorts. “News just reported the heist a few minutes ago.”

Len opens the door, not the least bit surprised at who’s behind it.

“That was so  _ crash _ !” Bart says bouncing on the balls of his feet. “With the rain and all the toys exploding and then the ice and….ahh, I can’t believe you planned all that! It was awesome!”

Sam tilts his head. “How’d you find out all of that so quick?”

“News.” Bart’s eyes flicker around the warehouse. “Oh, hey, are those the paintings? Cool.”

“He sees original Rembrandts and all it gets is ‘cool’.” Hartley sighs. “Well, you better look closely, kid. Before Len gives half of them away to charity.” 

“Charity, huh?” Bart smirks up at Len.

Len refuses to raise to the bait, holding up the photo. “Not like it matters, the real prize is this.”

Bart laughs. “All that for a picture?”

“A picture of Impulse, cutie,” Lisa says, pulling Bart into a half hug. “That’s step one in Len’s master plan to find out who the new speedster is.”

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

There’s a chorus of chuckles from the rest of the Rogues, all of which Bart ignores with his usual smile.

Len rolls his eyes. “Kid, nothing is ever that easy.  _ Especially _ when it comes to speedsters.”

  
  
  
  


\-----

Even before his life revolved around super speed and second by millisecond plans, Leonard Snart had always known that everything comes down to time.

But, time is a tricky contradictory thing. Given enough of it, it reveals two opposite phenomenon: change and patterns.

Seven months since the first Impulse sighting. Five months since the Rogues first returned to Central City. Two months since he introduced Bart to the Rogues. Change and new patterns.

Len doesn’t go to the museum anymore. There’s no need. Half of the time, Bart’s at the Rogue warehouse anyway. Every day, either for minutes or hours before he disappears off to the life that Len _ still  _ knows nothing about except for a few maddening details. Not that Len doesn’t have a few plans.

But, as always, the thing about Bart is that he always makes it easy to forget there’s something wrong. Frustratingly weird kid that he is, with bright smiles and a short attention span. Bart fits against the grooves of the Rogues like the missing gear that pushes the clock pieces into motion. Slipping in seamlessly until they forget there was ever a time he should’ve been out of place.

The rest of the time, the Rogues spend chasing Impulse across the city. 

After the gala, Len has traded in subtly for an all out chase and, despite even Len’s pessimism, it looks like the new speedster is rising to the challenge.They haven’t gotten a better picture. Not since the gala. If Len liked to bet and he does, he would bet Impulse  _ knows  _ what they’re after now and is somehow focusing even more energy on keeping his face blurred.

It’s fine. Like the Rogues have ever needed anything more than a good robbery and a better chase, the bonus of finding out what the new guy looks like just adds an edge.

They haven’t been able to pull off a big score again, not like the Rembrandts, but Len can feel it deep in his bones. The electricity, the rush, the return of the Central City Rogues. 

And fuck, did Len miss it.

A hand’s waves in front of his face and Len looks up to find Bart.

The kid cocks his head. “Hey, did you get Axel to tail me?”

“Did it work?”

Bart smirks. “No.”

“Then, I guess I didn’t,” Len answers and Bart laughs.

Mark gives Axel a heavily judgmental look. “You couldn’t tail a fourteen year old? Seriously?”

“He freaking disappeared!” Axel huffs. “I told you guys you should have gotten Sam to do it! The Trickster’s all about flash and bang, not quite and stealth.”

“You’ve gotta stop referring to yourself in third person,” Hartley tsks. “It’s pretentious.”

“Oh, please, coming from you.”

“And,” Sam interrupts, five mirrors laid out in front of him, “I’m already busy tracking the Berettis.”

“The Berettis,” Bart asks. “Didn’t Impulse turn them into the CCPD?”

“How do you know that,” Sam asks.

Bart shrugs. “I hear things. Why are you bothering tracking them?”

“Because they’re a bunch of assholes that shot Mick,” Mark answers. “ _ And  _ their snake of a lawyer is finally getting them off house arrest next week.”

“But I thought you were focusing on Impulse?”

“We can multitask,” Hartley drawls. “Well, you know, some of us can.”

“Hey!” Axel shouts.

“I didn't say you.”

“I know who you meant, you jerk!”

Bart frowns at Len. “Isn’t it dangerous, though? I mean they shot Mick.”

Mick snorts before Len can answer. “Don’t worry about us, kid. Taking down rival gangs used to be what the Rogues did best.”

Bart’s still frowning.

“Mick’s right,” Len tells him, finally allowing himself to smirk. “And, besides, the Rogues have owed the Berettis some payback for far too long. Impulse can wait.”

  
  
  
  


\-----

The Berettis offshore accounts are hacked from somewhere in Gotham and the files are sent anonymously to the CCPD. The entire family is again buried in legal red tape for months.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Len growls at the paper, glaring at it much like he’s been doing for the previous day. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Bart smiles next to him. “Guess someone beat you to the punch.”

“You’ve. Got. To. Be.  _ Kidding.  _ Me.”

The kid pats his back comfortingly. “At least you still have Impulse.”

“Kid’s right, Len,” Lisa calls from the living area. “Sit down the paper and come tell us what the next plan is.”

Bart hops off the kitchen counter. “If you’re talking about your next robbery, I’m leaving.”

Mark pulls the kid into a light headlock, messing up Bart’s hair. “You don’t know what you’re missing, kid, hearing the plan’s the best part. Well, third best, after the actual crime and counting up the score.”

“That’s why I’m waiting.” Bart hits Mark’s arm until he lets him go. “I told you, it’s more fun to see it in person...or, um, you know the news. That way I can see it once it’s together.”

Sitting on the couch, Axel frowns, an oddly contemplative look on his face. “Hey, Bart, I’ve got a question.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you know about Impulse?”

Bart stops. 

“What?”

“Why would Bart know anything about Impulse,” Sam asks skeptically before turning to Bart. “You don’t. Do you, kid?”

Bart frowns. “Well, I mean--”

“I meant what’s the word on the street,” Axel clarifies. “Kids talk. Kids  _ see  _ things. Come on, new speedster shows up out of nowhere. I know there has to be some rumors about where he came from.”

The entire room pauses, thinking through the words.

“That’s actually a really good thought,” Hartley says, sounding surprised.

Axel grins, sticking out his tongue. “Shut up, I  _ am  _ smart!”

“Yeah,” Mark says, “but usually you use those smarts for blowing things up.”

“That’s the most fun!”

Len glares until they quiet down before turning to Bart. “Well, kid, what do you think? Heard anything useful?”

Bart stares at him, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Why, Len, are you guys asking me for intel on defeating superheroes? That practically makes me an accessory, you know?”

Len rolls his eyes. “You’re not an accessory.”

“Technically, I think he became an accessory by not turning us in when he saw the paintings,” Hartley comments.

“You’re  _ not _ an accessory,” Len repeats firmly.

“No, no, I  _ really, really  _ want to say I’m an accessory to catching Impulse,” Bart says, now grinning widely. “If not, then no deal.”

Weird, weird kid.

“Fine. You’re officially an accessory,” he says dismissively.

“Crash!”

“Just tell us what you know,” Len says.

Bart nods, face going abruptly serious. “Okay. I heard that Impulse is the second Flash’s grandson.  _ And  _ that he’s actually from an alternate apocalypse timeline but that he time traveled back to save the world from an alien invasion.”

The Rogues all stare at him.

“Seriously,” Mark asks.

“Yep,” Bart says, popping the ‘p’.

“Oh my gosh,” Axel says, eyes shining, “that’s so awes--”

“People really will believe anything, won’t they,” Len says, shaking his head. He turns back to the Rogues. “Okay, back to work. Berettis can wait. Let’s find out who this Impulse  _ really _ is without relying of fairy tales.”

Bart laughs so hard, Sam has to make sure he’s still breathing.

  
  
  


\-----

Like usual with Bart, Len finds out the important things in hints, riddles, and exceptionally mundane ways.

That said, Len can’t help but think he should have noticed this one far quicker than he actually did.

It starts with Hartley.

Or, more accurately, it starts with one of Hartley’s sonic pulses backfiring disastrously and almost taking out an apartment building filled with civilians before Impulse zipped in the building, saved the civilians, and rebuilt it all within twenty minutes.

Still, the potential for mass civilian casualties always has a funny way of messing with people’s heads, the Rogues not excluded. Hartley reacts to his failures like he always does: obsessive bordering on manic fixation with each and every one of his devices.

It does not make for great company.

“So, what do you know,” Axel says, a perky smile on his face, “it looks like even a musical engineering prodigy with his oh-so-great-brilliance can make a mistake every now and then.”

If looks could kill, Axel would have died years before Hartley glared up at him.

Showing his uncanny knack of avoiding self-preservation, Axel continues. “It’s _ almost  _ like we shouldn’t be so hard on others, even if they, I don’t know, say mildly blow up the kitchen just one small--”

“Axel,” Mick interrupts, steering the trickster away from Hartley’s work desk, “stop while you’re ahead before Hartley blows out your eardrums.”

Bart, showing his own knack of avoiding self-preservation, chooses this moment to walk up and look at Hartley’s work.

Hartley looks up, biting comment already halfway to his lips.

“Hartley,” Lisa and Len warn at the same time.

“You’re equation’s wrong,” Bart says.

Len swears the entire room stops to stare.

“Bart,” Hartley says, tightly controlled politeness coloring his voice, “I highly suggest you go back to annoying Len and leave me to work on my--”

“Your equation’s wrong,” Bart says again more firmly, grabbing the paper before Hartley can stop him. “Look, you’re looking at the wrong thing. Your equations are all about strengthening the precision of the control gear when it  _ should  _ be about taking in the continuing pressure. “

Hartley stares at him. “What.” 

Bart shakes his head, grabbing a pen and writing something in the margins. “You’re accounting for the initial reaction of starting the blast; but, you aren’t taking in the additional sonic force exerted after. It snapped the control mechanism. That’s why you couldn’t aim it.”

Hartley’s now looking between the paper and Bart with a sense of bewilderment on his face.

“Hartley, what’s he talking about,” Mark asks.

Hartley ignores the question, grabbing at one of his sonic devices and breaking it apart until he’s holding a small metal bit, worn down and brittle.

. “...he’s right.” Hartley stares at it for another second before looking back up at Bart. “You were actually right.”

Bart huffs, smiling slightly. “Told you.”

Hartley shakes his head, frowning in thought. “Then, it’s impossible. I can’t make a strong enough metal that would contain the force while still giving the same amount of damage and control.”

“Sure, you can,” Bart says. “Just design it with enough circular momentum that the reaction is directed back outward rather than on the device’s own mechanics. Here watch.” 

The kid leans over the paper, writing something with far more symbols than Len knows what to do with; but, Hartley’s looking at it with that same bright glean in his eyes that he only gets when Len suggests they rob concert halls.

“Kid,” Hartley says when Bart finally finishes, “you just became my new favorite.”

“Not a kid,” Bart says but he’s blushing slightly. 

Hartley looks down at the paper, frowning suddenly before he turns back to Len. “I thought you said the kid didn’t go to school.”

“I don’t,” Bart says cheerfully. “It was boring.  _ This  _ is fun.”

“This is advanced physics,” Hartley says dryly. “Where did you even learn this?”

Both Len and Hartley stare at Bart, who shrugs.

“I told you,” the kid says, “I’m pretty good at teaching myself.”

Hartley swears and Len vividly understands the feeling.

So, Bart’s a genius. Sure, of course, makes sense with everything else crazy in the kid’s life.

  
  
  


\-----

Len stares at the other figure on the roof. “What are you doing up here, Bart?”

“I’m hiding,” the kid admits.

“Why?”

Bart shrugs. “I don’t know; you ever have those days where you want to be by yourself but, um, you don’t really want to be alone. I guess it’s like that.”

Len sits down next to him. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but alone time is a bit of a foreign concept with the Rogues.”

“Not if you don’t tell them I’m up here,” Bart counters, raising his eyebrows in question.

Len rolls his eyes. “Fine, kid, your secret’s safe with me.”

“See, that’s why you’re my favorite.” Bart grimaces. “Don’t tell Lisa or Axel, though.”

“You seem to forget that if I told my sister, I’d be the one dealing with it, too.”

Bart gives a small laugh, quiet somehow in the fading sun of the day. “I guess you’re right. “ He lowers his voice. “I really like them, though. All of you guys. I know why Wally used to tell stories about you now.”

“Wally your cousin,” Len asks, as always filing the name back in his head.

“Hmm? Yeah, the best.”

Len waits, trying to gauge Bart’s mood before he asks. “How’d he die?”

There’s a long pause.

“It really doesn’t matter anymore,” Bart replies in a tone that says it’s all he’s going to say. 

Len lets them sit in silence, waiting until Bart gets ready to break it.

“Hey,” Bart says, tone shifting into a faux kind of casualness as he changes the subject, “did you know today’s the anniversary of the first time Kid Flash was ever sighted? I saw it on the news.”

Len snorts. “And here all the others think you’re some kind of Rogues fan. It’s really all about the Flash with you, isn’t it, Bart?”

“I can be a fan of both,” Bart says.

“Yeah, but I didn’t meet you in the Rogues exhibit now did I?”

Bart gives his soft kind of smile, not even bothering to argue.

“Hey, Len,” he says quietly, “mind if I ask you a question?”

“When have you ever asked permission before?”

Bart look over the city, squinting in the light of the sunset. “I guess I just wondered what you thought about kid heroes. I mean you fought Kid Flash back before the Invasion, you have to have an opinion, right?”

“Been listening to Jay Garrick and the JSA lately,” Len asks skeptically.

Bart grimaces. “Yeah, um, I guess listening to Jay is kind of hard for me to avoid….living in Central and everything, I mean.”

Len heaves out a sigh. “Kid, you want the truth. There isn’t a single adult alive that likes the idea of kid heroes. That’s just the way it is. First time, I saw a kid dressed in mustard yellow and following after the Flash’s coattails like a little lost puppy, I thought Flash had finally lost it.”

Bart looks down. “So, you agree with Jay? About the Titans.”

“Did I say that?” Len shakes his head. “No, kid, I’m not stupid enough to go against the only team holding the world together. Garrick’s not wrong about the basic idea, Bart, he’s wrong about the follow through. Kids…,” he looks at Bart and that stupid weight is back in his chest, “you can’t keep them safe. You can’t keep _ anyone _ safe, not really. We don’t have that kind of control. And with superheroes….,” he pauses, “if I had superspeed when I was a teenager, there wouldn’t be a force alive that could keep me from using it. That’s what it all comes down to in the end. Not whether we  _ should  _ stop them, that’s obvious. We can’t. All we can do after that is figure out how to help them.”

When he looks up, Bart’s staring at him.

“What, kid?”

The kid hugs him.

Len freezes, going totally still for a moment before, finally, awkwardly, he pats the kid’s back.

“See,” Len says quietly, “now, this is definitely a hug.”

“No, it’s not,” Bart lies, face still buried in his shoulder. “It’s a wrestling move. I’m winning.”

Len smiles. “If you think this is wrestling, we’re getting Mick to show you self defense.”

  
  
  


\------

Everything has its breaking point.

“Boo,” Axel throws popcorn at the television screen as if they’re watching a sports game rather than the news, “I hope Impulse kicks that ape’s fat hairy ass.”

Across the screen, the headline  _ Gorilla Grodd Attacks Downtown  _ scrolls along the bottom.

Mark bumps his shoulder into Axel. “Still mad about last time, huh, kid?”

“He nearly tore off my arm,” Axel shouts, waving said arm through the air. “Yeah, I’m still mad!”

Lisa hums thoughtfully. “The fight’s taking a while this time. Think we should be out there? With Grodd, there’s a good chance he slows Impulse down long enough we get an ID.”

“Too risky,” Len says. “We’re Rogues, we don’t mess with telepathic superpowered gorillas unless they bother us first.”

Hartley shakes his head. “Telepathic gorillas. Honestly, what even is this city?”

“Better than Gotham,” Sam says wisely.

The alert button flashes on screen and the headline changes to  _ Gorilla Grodd Defeated After Prolonged Battle. _

“Good,” Mick says shortly. “Fucking hate Grodd.”

There’s a knock on the door.

The Rogues still.

“Is it Bart,” Axel asks, eyes still glued to the door.

Mark snorts. “When’s the last time that kid’s bothered to knock?”

“Sam, get a mirror ready,” Len orders, approaching the door with the cold gun already in his hand.

He opens the door carefully, making sure who’s behind it doesn’t get the benefit of surprise.

“Hey.”

The kid’s slumped in the entrance way with pupils blown out and unsteady. He’s breathing heavy, a slight sheen of sweat sticking the hair to the parts of his face that aren’t covered by shadow. His clothes are a mess, rumpled and wrinkled like they were thrown on last minute and his arms wrap around his stomach almost like he’s holding something in.

In short, Bart looks like shit.

“So, about that favor,” Bart says, a plastic grin plastered on his face, “do you think I can stay here for the night?” 

Len lowers the gun. “Get in here, kid.”

There’s a flash of something starkly relieved behind the kid’s eyes and Bart stumbles more than walks over the entrance way, catching Len’s shoulder briefly to steady himself before stumbling away from Len almost as quick.

Lisa’s the first one that sees him, eyes widening. “Oh my gosh, Bart!”

“What’s wrong, kid?” Mick frowns. “You sick.”

“I’m fine,” Bart says quickly.

“You look terrible,” Hartley says. 

“Heh, thanks.”

Axel steps forward, grabbing onto Bart’s arm and the kid jumps back, something weird happening with his face. Like a missing frame in a movie and then, Len sees Bart’s still smiling.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bart reassures, huddling down on the couch. “I’m fine. Just surprised me. Hard to focus.” He’s slurring the last few words, blinking slower. “Need...need a second. I’ll be fine.”

“Kid,” Mark crouches down in front of him, “you need a doctor?”

_ “No doctor _ ,” Bart says firmly, eyes flying back open briefly before he stalls. “Just...just sick. Like you said. It’s fine.” He grimaces. “It’s just my head, can’t focus.”

Hartley exchanges a look with Len before crouching down next to Mark, grabbing Bart’s chin.

“Bart, open your eyes for a second,” Hartley orders. “I’m making sure you don’t have a concussion.”

Bart obliges, still muttering under his breath. “Not a concussion now, just a headache. Need a second.”

Hartley ignores him, pulling a flashlight from somewhere in his pockets and shining it in Bart’s eyes.

“No concussion,” Hartley reports. “Looks like he’s just sick.”

“Told you,” Bart says tiredly, blinking up at the rest of them. “Can I stay here for the night?”

“Of course, honey,” Lisa says immediately, a worried expression sitting strangely on her face. “Stay as long as you’d like. I’ll go grab an extra blanket.”

Bart gives her a small smile and then all but slumps over on the couch, eyes falling shut and breathing evening out.

The Rogues stand above the sleeping kid, mentally debating who’s going to say it first.

“Len,” Mick says bluntly, “if the kid’s sick enough to pass out, he needs a doctor.”

“Kid said he didn’t want one.” Mark crosses his arms. “ _ Lots  _ of reasons not to want to go to the hospital when you’re a kid like Bart.”

“I think he’ll be fine for the night,” Hartley comments quietly, still looking down at Bart. “He doesn’t have a concussion and it didn’t feel like he has too much of a fever, so we should be able to wait for the morning.”

“He looks  _ bad _ , though.” Axel winces. “Like really bad.”

Sam runs a hand through his hair. “Would help if we knew anything about the kid’s medical history. Maybe migraines like this are normal for him?”

Lisa stretches out their spare afghan over him, looking at Len. “So, what’s our move here? Leave him passed out on the couch because we don’t know what else to do?”

Len hesitates.

The ring of a cell phone cuts through the stillness, causing half of them to jump.

Bart shifts in his sleep, face twisting slightly and that’s when Len realizes where it’s coming from.

Before he can think about it, he fishes the cellphone out of Bart’s jacket and looks down at the screen.

The name  _ Jaime  _ flashes across the screen.

“Who is it,” Lisa asks, leaning over to look.

“Information,” Len answers coolly.

He weighs the options in his head, the kid’s privacy over possible health. It doesn’t take long to decide.

He accepts the call, holding up the phone to his ear.

There’s a brief moment of silence.

“...Bart?” The voice on the other end sounds young and confused for all of a second before relief bleeds through. “Hey, you answered. Good, I thought you’d never--Nevermind. Listen, can we talk. I really want--”

“This isn’t Bart Allen,” Len cuts him off.

There’s a pause. 

“Then, who is this,” the voice--Jaime, presumably--asks, tone suddenly suspicious. “And why do you have Bart’s phone?”

“A friend of his,” Len answers before cutting to the chase. “What do you know about Bart’s medical history?”

“ _ Why? _ Where’s Bart?”

Len sighs. “He’s sick. Listen, do you--”

“Bart doesn’t get sick,” Jaime interrupts firmly, no room for questions. 

Len scowls, annoyed. “Well, kid, he looks like shit and passed out on the couch, complaining about a headache. So, if he’s _ not  _ sick, I’m not sure what he is.”

There’s the sound of typing on the other end and then a muffled,  _ “shit.” _

“Where are you,” Jaime asks, urgent and rushed like he’s already walking somewhere. “I’ll come and get him.”

“No,” Len says bluntly because like fuck is Len letting Bart be taken off by some stranger the kid’s been avoiding for months. “Kid asked to stay so he’s staying here. Do you know anything about his medical history or not?”

There’s another long pause. “Yeah, I do.”

“Great,” Len gives his sharp smile even though he knows the Jaime kid can’t see it, “tell us what we should know and we’ll help him. No need for you to get involved. Got it?”

“Let me see him.”

Len rolls his eyes. “Not going to happen. We’re keeping him safe.”

“Look,” Jaime cuts through, “I don’t know you. But, I know Bart. Bart doesn’t get sick so whatever's wrong with him is something else and I  _ need  _ to see him to know how bad it is. Bart doesn’t do doctors which means if it’s something bad, he needs help fast. Please, tell me where he is so I don’t have to go looking myself.” 

Len doesn’t answer, debating through his choices.

There’s a pause on the other end. “I know you don’t know me either. But, I promise you--I  _ promise _ \---I only want to make sure Bart’s okay. That’s it. I just need you to trust me.”

Len looks to his sister and then to the rest of his team huddled around.

Lisa shrugs. “Len, we need to find out what’s wrong with Bart.”

“Fine.” Len sighs. “Okay, kid, I’ll text you the address.”

“Thank you,” the voice says and the relief Len can hear is at least reassuring. “I’ll be there soon.”

Len hangs up the phone.

“Well, that was a dumb idea,” Mick mutters. “Giving every random kid our address now?”

Lisa huffs. “He said there’s something wrong with Bart. What did you want us to do?”

Mick frowns, but, doesn’t offer any arguments which with the Rogues is basically the same as tacit agreement.

“What did he mean Bart doesn’t get sick,” Axel asks, looking between Len and Hartley.

“Exaggeration,” Hartley waves a hand at the couch where Bart’s still asleep. “He’s got a migraine and a mild fever. He’s sick. End of story. Nothing to worry about.”

Sam shrugs. “Unless, it’s...well, you know?”

“What,” Hartley presses.

“Come on, blown out eyes, sweating, headaches,” Sam says like it's obvious. “Kid might have gotten a bad dose of drugs.”

There’s a long pause.

“No way does Bart do drugs,” Mark says flatly.

“I mean maybe--”

“Have you met the kid,” Mark interrupts. “Kid’s weird but he’s not high. I bet--”

A hard knock on the door cuts off the conversation.

“Shit, did the kid teleport here,” Mick says.

Len ignores them, inching the door open with his cold gun just out of view

A Hispanic teen, maybe a few years older than Bart, stands in the doorway, breathing quick like he just finished running. 

He looks soft, kind in that distinct way that makes it seem like he spends his free time helping old ladies cross the street and saving lost kittens.

He’s not exactly what Len was expecting from the ‘friend’ Bart apparently tried to kill.

“So, you’re Jaime,” Len asks skeptically.

The teen nods. “Where’s Bart?”

“Inside.” 

Jaime nods, moving to come inside but Len blocks him. The teen blinks up in confusion and Len holds up the cold gun, lighting it up enough to give a warning.

“I think we should have a little talk first,” Len says flatly. “On what things we will and will not be keeping a secret.”

“Oh, crap. Oh….oh, fuck,” Jaime says, staring at the cold gun, and Len holds back a smirk. He’s always found there’s something incredibly telling about how a person reacts the first time they think they’re in danger.

And then, surprisingly, Jaime’s eyes harden, the softness in his face firming to glare up at Len as his hands clench into firsts at his side.

_ “What did you do with Bart,” _ Jaime demands, the gentle air from before vanishing beneath what looks like anger.

Len frowns. “Nothing, kid.”

“Bullshit, I know who you are. I’ve read your file,” Jaime grounds out. “You’re Captain Cold and if you did anything to Bart, I’ll--”

“Cool down, kid,” Len orders, lowering the gun more out of perplexity than anything. “We didn’t hurt Bart. Bart’s a  _ friend. _ And, as much as I admire the pluck, I think a street kid picking a fight with a Rogues is a touch out of your level.”

“A….a what?” Jaime frowns suddenly, the fire dying down to be replaced with confusion.

Len smirks, finding his balance again. “There you go, kid. Little tip: keep that spirit for someone you can actually beat. Save threatening supervillains for the metas and the Titans. Normal kids like you are out of your league.”

Jaime blinks .“Wait, what?”

“Bart’s a friend,” Len says. “A good friend. Which is the only reason we’re giving you this address. You try to tell the CCPD about it  _ or  _ you try to hurt Bart. You’re about to get a lot better acquainted with this cold gun. Do you understand me, kid?” 

The teens openly staring at him now, mouth hanging open. “...you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what, kid?”

Jaime’s mouth falls shut with an audible click. “Let me see Bart.”

Len narrows his eyes. “Need to know you understand me first?”

“What? Yeah, I...I definitely won’t hurt Bart or...or,” Jaime waves a hand, still looking more stunned than anything, “tell anybody about whatever this place is. I get it. Just let me see Bart. I need to know he’s okay.”

Len steps back, opening the door just enough to get by.

“Thank you,” Jaime says sincerely, slipping through the door and into the warehouse.

He stumbles, pausing briefly as he takes in the rest of the Rogues all watching him with varying degrees of reluctance, before finally his eyes land on Bart.

“Crap,” he kneels next to the couch. “Do you guys have a medical kit?”

Lisa nods, breaking from the group to head towards the bathroom.

“He’s sick, kid,” Hartley insists even as the Rogues all move further back to give him space in front of Bart.

Jaime shakes his head, muttering more to himself than them. “Bart doesn’t get sick.”

“Is it drugs,” Sam interjects, only to be glared at by Mark.

“No, Bart doesn’t do drugs.” Jaime sighs, fingers going to Bart’s pulse point as he reaches to grab the medical kit from Lisa. “He’s not sick, he’s injured.”

“Injured?” Axel shakes his head. “Nah, if Bart was hurt, he would’ve told us.”

Jaime snorts. “Not about this. He never does.”

Bart shifts suddenly, face scrunching up in a wince, before he blinks opens his eyes and slowly focuses on the teen in front of him.

“Jaime?” Bart frowns, looking lost. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Jaime gives him a small smile. “Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to give me a heart attack by hiding out with the Rogues.”

“They’re good.” Bart says tiredly, blinking slowly like he’s still trying to focus. He looks up at the Rogues waiting at the edges and he smiles distractedly like he sees them without really knowing fully that they’re there. “I’m safe.”

“Okay, Bart.” Jaime takes a deep breath. “How much are you aware right now?”

“I don’t know. Mostly?” He winces. “My head hurts.” 

Jaime nods. “Where else are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“Bart, you passed out on a couch and I saw the news before I came here. You’re not fine,” Jaime says bluntly. “Tell me where you’re hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Bart insists, sounding like he’s struggling to stay awake.

“Then, you won’t mind letting me check to make sure.”

Bart’s lips quirk up in a small grin. “Don’t remember you getting a medical license when I wasn’t looking.” 

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Jade’s been giving me lessons. Which you’d already know if you weren’t avoiding me.”

Bart frowns. “...I didn’t think you wanted to talk.”

“Liar,” Jaime accuses gently, the hand still checking Bart’s pulse taking the sting out of the accusation. “You’ve ignored too many of my calls to believe  _ I’m  _ the one that didn’t want to talk.” Jaime’s eyes flicker up to the Rogues. “Anyway, now’s probably not the best time to--”

“I didn’t think you should want to talk to me,” Bart corrects, eyes falling back closed as he leans back on the couch.

Lisa frowns, turning to her brother to whisper under her breath. “Lenny, what’s he talking about?”

“Not now,” Len says, eyes scanning Bart for injury and trying to see what he’s missing. What he failed to catch.

“Bart….,” Jaime pauses, “Bart, do you trust me?”

“It was never about that,” Bart mumbles, half asleep.

“Then, I  _ need  _ you to tell me where you’re hurt.”

Bart’s eyes open.

“That’s a really dirty move,” the kid says, sounding so put out that for a second, Len almost smiles.

Jaime does smile. “I’m not leaving until I know. And, something, says these guys aren’t going to be alright until they find out either.”

“I’m okay.” Bart huffs, pausing for a long moment. “....it’s just my ribs and back. It’s fine. They’ll heal alright on their own.” 

For the second time in the night, the room stops at the confirmation and Len can feel more than see his team tensing, drawing closer to the couch.

“Let me check it out,” Jaime says, already reaching in the medical kit.

Bart twitches and, for a brief moment, his eyes clear enough to focus fully on Jaime.

“It looks worse than it is,” Bart warns. “You don’t need to--”

“Bart,” Jaime interrupts. “Please, let me help.”

Bart sighs, wincing slightly as he shrugs off his jacket and reaches to pull off his shirt.

“FUCK,” Axel shouts before the rest have even fully processed.

Bart’s chest and sides are a motley mix of black and deep purple almost bleeding into red with shallow scrapes along his arms and sides. 

Len swallows. The kid looks like he just got hit by a bus.

“Shit,” Len leans down beside Jamie, meeting Bart’s eyes, “...shit, kid, how did you even make it here?”

Bart frowns, blinking at Len like he forgot he was there which….Len’s not even sure how the kid’s still conscious. “I’ve had worse.”

Jaime sighs, looking at the bruises like they’re about what he expected---which now Len definitely has questions about. He reaches in the medical kit. “I’m wrapping your ribs and bandaging the cuts, okay?” He goes quiet for a second. “You  _ really  _ should’ve gone to see Jade.”

“Later,” Bart says quietly. “It’s really not that bad. Nothing’s broken.”

“Tell that to Jade,” Jaime says, leaning forward to examine the bruises closer. Len sits back, giving the kid room. 

Bart’s eyes are closing again, apparently unconcerned as Jaime very gently touches the worst of the bruises, checking for broken ribs.

“Why didn’t you ask for help,” Jaime says softly, quiet enough that Len has to strain slightly to hear it. “I would’ve--”

“It’s my responsibility,” Bart yawns, leaning forward until his head’s resting briefly on Jaime’s shoulder as the teen reaches for the antiseptic to start bandaging the scrapes. “Central’s home.”

“You could’ve gone home to J--”

“You know why I didn’t.” Bart’s frown deepens even as his eyes stay closed. “It doesn’t matter. Either way he’s going to find out; I just didn’t want to deal with it tonight.”

Jaime grimaces, finishing the last of the cuts and reaching for the tape. He looks up to Len. “Can you help me lean him forward for a second so I can wrap his ribs?”

Len nods, moving up to grab the kid’s shoulders, staying careful to find the small places that aren’t bruised.

“My head’s still foggy,” Bart comments suddenly. “I didn’t think it would hurt for this long.”

Jaime shrugs, making sure the tape’s wrapped tight. “Yeah, well, adrenaline crashes will get everyone. Plus, from the looks of it, your body’s still in shock trying to heal everything else. It’s going to take some time before it can get to your head.”

Bart goes quiet. “They would’ve done better.”

“You did pretty well yourself,” Jaime says, finishing the last of the tape.

“What’s he talking about,” Mark steps forward, looking at Jaime. “Who hurt him?”

Jaime ignores him, focusing instead on Bart.

Bart inches open an eye, giving him a quick smile. “That’s a serious expression, Blue.”

Jaime gives a half a smile back before letting it fade.

“I need to tell everyone else that you’re alright.” He grimaces. “They probably think you’re missing by now.”

“You can leave me here,” Bart says. “I’ll be safe.”

“Bart…,” Jaime gives him a look that’s half fondness and half exasperation--Len relates far too much to it. “Do you even know where you are right now?” 

“Rogue’s hideout, Central City warehouse district,” Bart reports, leaning back on the couch and pulling the afghan back up to cover his bandaged ribs. “I’ll be fine here, go tell the others before they stage a manhunt.”

Jaime hesitates.

“Trust me.”

“That really  _ is _ a dirty move,” Jaime mutters. “Bart, I swear if you don’t check in with Jade tomorrow--”

“I will.” Bart gives a tired smile. “Just let me sleep for now, alright? I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“You’re not fine  _ now _ ,” Jaime argues, but he’s already packing up the medical kit and giving Bart his space. “Just...just stop avoiding me, okay?”

Bart looks up at him. “I’m sorry. About before.”

Jaime lets out a slow breath through his nose. “There’s nothing to forgive. There never was.”

Bart gives him a look like he doesn’t quite believe him, but obediently lets his eyes fall shut. A few seconds later, he’s slumped over on the couch again, breathing deeply in his sleep.

Jaime gives a small smile before looking up at the Rogues. “I need to go.”

“Yeah, no dice, kid. You’ve got some questions to answer first.” Mark grabs onto the teens arm dragging him in the kitchen, away from where Bart’s sleeping. Jaime lets himself be dragged, looking more like he’s allowing it than threatened by the action. The rest of the Rogues follow behind.

“You know who hurt the kid, don’t you,” Mick demands as soon as they get to the kitchen.

Jaime hesitates. “Yes.”

“H ow?” Sam frowns. “Bart never said anything.”

“It wasn’t hard to put together,” Jaime says quickly. “Look, who did it doesn’t really matter right now. He’s not going to be a problem for awhile.”

“How do you know that,” Lisa asks.

“Because Bart won.”

Hartley scoffs loudly. “That didn’t look a lot like winning to me. And speaking of which, how did you know Bart was injured and not sick? It was just a fever and a migraine, how’d you know there was more.”

“I told you, Bart doesn’t get sick.” Jaime lowers his voice. “But, he does hide when he’s hurt. Honestly, I don’t think he even thinks about it most of the time. He’s used to it.”

Axel actually groans in frustration. “What does that even mean? What the fuck has Bart been doing that he doesn’t notice his ribs are turning purple?!”

Jaime looks down, sighing quietly under his breath.

Len steps up, stopping right in front of the kid’s face where the kid doesn’t have a choice but to meet his eyes.

“You’re not going to tell us anything, are you,” Len surmises, voice hard.

Jaime doesn’t back down. “They’re not my secrets to tell.”

Len continues to stare him down, trying to find the chinks in the kid’s armor, the right buttons to press. Everyone has them. Even Len.

Jaime finds his first. “Bart has enough reasons to distrust people already. I’m not giving him another.”

There’s the sound of a phone ringing and they all look down to see Bart’s phone buzzing in Len’s hand.  _ Dick  _ flashes across the screen and Len frowns at it, wondering if it’s a name or a warning.

“You’re going to want to silence that.” Jaime grabs the phone, clicking a button on the side until the phone quiets to mute. He lays it down on the coutner and looks up at the Rogues. “Listen, I won’t tell anyone where Bart is; but, I  _ really _ need to go.”

Mark folds his arms across his chest. “Not sure why we should let you.”

Jaime narrows his eyes. “Because believe it or not, you’re not the only ones worried about Bart.”

“Go on,” Len says, ignoring how his team all turns to him.

“Lenny,” Lisa frowns, “you sure? Kid knows what happened to Bart.”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s not going to tell us anything,” Len sighs as he sits down. “So, go on, kid.”

Jaime looks at him, eyes narrowed as if looking to see if Len’s lying.

“Before I change my mind,” Len grounds out. 

Jaime nods, pushing passed Mark and back to the living room. Len hears the door shut behind him

Mick frowns at Len. “Now, why the fuck did you do that?”

Len shrugs.

The kid’s right. Bart needs people he can trust.

...Len just thought he was one of them.

  
  
  


\-----

Len doesn’t sleep that night.

He doesn’t think he could even if he tried. Instead, he sits up in the kitchen and thinks.

He thinks about the Rogues. About Central. About plans and the Berettis and speedsters. About the Flash…. And he thinks about Bart. About Bart and all the million and one frustrating pieces that are less like a puzzle and more like a pane of broken glass.

What it all comes down to is this. Len doesn’t sleep that night and so, he’s the only one who notices when Bart wakes up.

“Hey,” the kid says, groggy but alert, dragging himself up to sit on the stool across from Len with only a slight wince.

“Hey,” Len answers quietly. “You shouldn’t aggravate your ribs.”

“They’ll be fine,” Bart waves a hand dismissively. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

Len nods. “Of course, kid, you didn’t have to waste your favor on that.”

Bart picks on some imaginary spot on the table and doesn’t look up. “What did Jaime tell you?”

“Practically nothing,” Len says and Bart looks up, momentarily confused before it softens into something like a smile.

“Oh,” the kid says. “...I should talk to him.”

“You should.” 

Bart grimaces. “I still don’t know what to say.”

“Seems like a common problem. So, what about you, Bart,” Len continues, voice going hard without asking for his permission. “ _ You  _ going to tell me what really happened? The whole truth, this time. Because I may not know much about you, kid, but, I know you haven’t told the entire truth  _ a single time  _ since I met you at the museum.”

“I haven't lied,” Bart says. “Not really, I mean. Not about anything important.”

“Those bruises aren’t important,” Len asks harshly before he takes a breath, purposely dropping his voice back to normal. “So, how about it, Bart. Want to tell me the whole truth now?”

Bart’s eyes flicker up before dropping back down.

“No,” the kid admits.

“I didn’t think so.” Len leans forward. “But here’s the thing, Bart, I may not get the whole truth. But, I think I deserve a  _ why _ . I think, after everything, I  _ at least  _ get a why.”

“Because I don’t want you to find out this way,” Bart makes an aborted gesture to his torso. “Not...not because of this.”

Len doesn’t bother saying anything else and the air around them falls silent as the kid shifts uncomfortably on his stool.

A few minutes pass before Bart finally breaks it.

“Hey, Len,” the kid says, soft voice loud in the quiet of the morning, “do you remember back at the museum? When you asked me why I think Impulse doesn’t show his face?”

Len sighs heavily. “Kid, believe it or not, I really _ don’t  _ want to talk about speedsters this morning.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Bart continues quietly. “You said it was because he thought people don’t like the unknown and I think you’re wrong. He’s not an unknown. Not to Central. They had the Flash, Kid Flash, even Jay Garrick. Another speedster’s not an unknown.”

“Then why do you think he does it, Bart,” Len asks, more to appease the kid than anything.

“Because he hasn’t earned it,” the kid says firmly, staring into Len’s eyes like he’s imparting the secrets of the universe. “Because showing your face means taking credit. It means being a hero. Without the face, people just think of the Flash. Think of Kid Flash. And that’s what they  _ should  _ do. Because Impulse? He hasn’t earned it yet.” Bart shakes his head, giving a smile that’s not particularly happy. “He’s never going to earn it. Because Flash and Kid Flash were the greatest heroes that ever lived. So, how can Impulse even come close?”

Len stares up at him. “Kid….lighten up a little. At least give the new guy a chance. No one’s ever going to match up if you hold your heroes on a pedestal.”

Bart lets out a laugh that’s surprisingly hollow.

“Yeah, maybe,” the kid admits. “But, that doesn’t mean the pedestal shouldn’t exist.”

Bart hops down off the stool, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets. 

“You leaving, kid,” Len asks, not particularly surprised.

“Yeah,” he pauses, “I’ve got some people I need to see.”

“The rest of them are going to be pissed,” Len comments, tone expressionless.

Bart winces. “Tell them...tell them I’m sorry. For everything.”

“They’ll be even more pissed if you don’t say when you’re coming back,” he adds offhandedly.

Bart blinks, some of the weight clearing off his face as his mouth turns up in a small smile.

“Give me a few days,” he says, “A few days and then I’ll be back, I promise.”

  
  
  


\-----

Axel frowns. “Wait, what do you mean he just  _ left _ ?”

“He even left his phone,” Sam says glumly, poking at the device where it lies on the kitchen counter.

“He left,” Len repeats, crossing his arms. “He said he had people to see and then he left. Said he’d be back in a few days.”

“If he makes it a few days,” Hartley mutters darkly, only to be glared at by half the Rogues present. “What? You saw the bruises. He’s lucky one of his ribs didn’t break and puncture a lung.”

“Who did that to him,” Sam asks, frowning.

“Looked like a group,” Mark comments. “Damage was too spread out for a normal person to focus on.”

“We’ll find out,” Mick says, a particular hardness behind his eyes, “and when we do, I say we make them  _ wish  _ the Rogues didn’t have a no-kill rule. Yeah?”

“Obviously.” Lisa turns to Len. “But, first, we need to find out the names. Len, any ideas on how we’re going to get our kid to talk?”

“He won’t,” Len says flatly.

Axel blinks. “What? Why? After those bruises, no way the kid ain’t looking for payback. What better payback than  _ us.  _ Why wouldn’t he tell us?”

“Because he hasn’t before,” Len says, sighing. “You’re still thinking this is a new thing. A  _ first  _ time. It isn’t. He’s said he’s had worse. This is just the first time we’ve seen the evidence. Bart...Bart’s always been odd, he’s  _ always  _ been hiding this. Ever since we first met him. For all we know, he could’ve been beaten up every time he wasn’t here for a few days.”

The Rogues stare up at him.

“What the fuck has the kid been involved in,” Mick shouts. “This is _ Bart _ we’re talking about! Kid doesn’t exactly scream hardened street fighter.”

“Not street fighting,” Mark says suddenly. “Oh shit, the kid’s in a gang!”

“A gang,” Hartley says skeptically.

Mark nods. “Think about it. He got beat up by a group, the Jaime kid said people would be looking for him, kid feels like he has to keep secrets. It’s a gang! Bart probably got beat up by some rival group!”

Quiet settles around them while each of the Rogues consider it.

Hartley shakes his head. “I’m still not buying it.”

“No, it works,” Sam argues, Axel nodding beside him. “Mark’s right. We just didn’t see it because it’s the kid.”

Lisa and Mick exchange a look.

“It explains the lack of records,” Lisa says. “If Bart’s involved with powerful enough people,  _ they  _ could’ve gotten the records erased.”

Mick shrugs. “Kids agree to a lot of stupid shit when they’re desperate. Me and Len probably did worse back then, before we figured out what we were doing.”

Len stays quiet, thinking rather than offering his own opinion.

“Okay, so Bart’s in a fricking gang,” Axel says, eyes flickering around to the rest of the group. “What do we now?”

Lisa hums thoughtfully.

“We do what we always do,” she suggests quietly.

Len scowls. “No.”

Lisa doesn't back down. “If you had any better ideas, you’d have done them already.”

“He’s fourteen,” Len argues.

“He’s in trouble.”

“No, Lisa.”

Sam frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Len answers firmly.

“Lisa thinks Len should invite the kid to be a Rogue,” Mick explains. He shrugs. “It’s not the worst idea.”

“No,” Len says again, glaring at Mick.

“That’s a great idea,” Axel shouts. “We’re the best gang in Central! No way Bart choses another gang over us!”

Mark nods approvingly. “It would keep the kid safe.”

“No,” Len says, slamming his hands on the counter in front of him. “It’s insane. We’re not bringing a fourteen year old with us to rob banks! To chase speedsters! To take down mobs! You think it would protect him? All we’d do is get him killed!”

Silence reigns for all of a second and Len thinks that’s the end of it before Hartley breaks it.

“So don’t take the kid on heists,” Hartley says contemplatively.

“It’s Bart,” Len dismisses. “I doubt he’d be happy twiddling his thumbs in the warehouse.”

“Then, keep him busy.” Hartley sniffs. “The kid’s a genius, Len, and that’s  _ me  _ saying that. So what if he can’t go on robberies yet? Have him work keeping the guns running. Let him help Axel with the explosives. Give him to me and I’ll put him to work on the upgrades for my sonic devices.”

Len doesn’t have an answer immediately.

“It would work,” Sam agrees. “Keeps the kid in the Rogues; but, away from the danger.”

“And gets him out of whatever gang thinks it’s right to have one of their own nearly beat to death and scared to go to a doctor,” Mark says, clenching the counter tightly.

Mick looks to Len. “It’s a good idea, Snart.”

“I don’t know,” Len says, still frowning.

“Well, see, that’s the beauty of a team, Lenny. It’s not just your decision.” Lisa wraps an arm around his shoulder and her next words are more an order than a suggestion. “Consider it. We care about the kid, too.” 

  
  
  
  


\-----

Bart comes back to the warehouse a few nights later. Just like he promised.

Len watches as the kid stands in the doorway.

_ I haven't lied...Not about anything important. _

But, like fuck, has the kid been telling the truth.

The Rogues are quiet like they never are, sitting tense in the living area and kitchen while pretending hard that their eyes aren’t following Len and the kid. They’re waiting.

Bart’s not an idiot. Len can see it in the strain in his smile the longer it goes without anyone speaking.

Lisa sighs, standing to lay a hand on the Bart’s shoulder and steer him to Len. “Hey, honey, glad to see you’re doing better. Len’s got something he wants to talk to you about. Why don’t you two head up to the roof? The rest of us can wait, alright?”

The kid swallows as he nods, flashing his particularly fake grin at Len. “Alright.”

The look that Lisa sends Len is a warning and Len doesn’t feel dumb enough to ignore it, even if he doesn’t know if he can give her what she wants.

Len leads the kid up to the roof, shutting the door behind him as he turns to look back at the kid.

“You’re walking better,” Len notes idly. “How are the ribs?”

“Better,” Bart gives a small smile. “I told you, they looked worse than they were.”

Len doesn’t believe that for a second. “Mind if I check?”

The kid’s smile drops. “They’re good. Don’t worry about it.”

Len sighs, turning his head up so he can watch the stars instead of Bart.

“Well, see, kid, now that’s going to be a bit of a problem, isn’t it,” Len asks. “You’re not really giving me much of a choice but to worry about it. My  _ team  _ is worrying about it.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

Len narrows his eyes. “You’re not listening to me; it’s not a choice. I  _ am  _ worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, “you haven’t been ‘fine’ since the first day I met you.”

He finally turns his head back down to see Bart fidgeting.

Fuck, Len always knew he would end up doing  _ something _ to help the kid. He just wished he had a safer choice. The Rogues have never been what anyone would call safe. But, they’re  _ always  _ better than the alternative.

“Kid, I need you to listen to me,” he says, resigned. “I’m going to make you an offer and, before you even hear it, I want you to know that there’s certain conditions attached. Conditions that I’m making to keep you safe. And conditions that if you break--if you decide not to listen to me--will have a lot more trouble than you want to deal with. Do you understand?”

Bart frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m letting you join the Rogues,” Len says bluntly. “Not as a full member, you’re too young. But, we can keep you safe, get you out of--”

“No.”

Len stops, the word echoing harshly in the quiet of the roof. “What?”

“No,” Bart repeats, shaking his head with an expression Len can’t read. “I...I can’t join the Rogues! You don’t  _ want  _ me to join the Rogues! You can’t have--Trust me, Len, you don’t even know what you’re asking!”

Len feels like the world’s turning on its axis, leaving a strange hum in his ears. 

Of all the options, Len never truly considered the kid saying ‘no’.

“Kid….Bart,” he says slowly, trying to find the words, “things will be a lot easier on you if you have a team working behind you.”

Bart’s watching him with wide eyes. “I have a team.”

“You have a  _ gang _ ,” Len argues. “The Rogues aren’t like--”

“Wait, you think I’m in a gang,” the kid interrupts. “I’m not in a gang!”

Len glares. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, Bart, we can read the signs. We can’t help you if you lie to us.”

“I’m not--,” Bart cuts himself off, running a hand through wild hair. “You don’t need to help me!”

Len lets out an aggravated sigh. “Kid, quit screwing around, you need--”

“Quit telling me what I need,” Bart shouts, hands clenching at his side. “Len,  _ listen to me _ , I don’t need your help! I don’t want it! I never asked for it!”

Len rounds on him, pointing a finger in the kid’s chest. “Well, too fucking bad, kid. Because you’ve got it! And I don’t care if you never asked for it!  _ Someone _ needs to watch your back!”

“I can protect myself!”

“You’re a kid, Bart!” Len explodes. “You’re a  _ kid! _ ”

“I know that!,” Bart snaps out. “And, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m doing fine on my own! I’ve  _ been _ doing fine on my own! For years! And a lot longer before you showed up. I don’t need anyone to save me, Len!”

“That so? Because it looks like you’re doing a shit job,” Len shouts, gesturing to the kid’s ribs.

Bart’s expression goes blank. That same absent expression Len saw so long ago, sitting in a pizza parlor.

“I told you, Len,” he says, cool in a way Len’s not used to from the kid. “I don’t need a hero. I’ve already had plenty before. And you know what heroes do, Len?  _ They die _ .”

Len glares right back. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a hero, then.”

Bart snorts. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The kid just shrugs like it’s obvious.

Len narrows his eyes. “Don’t mistake me for something I’m not, kid.”

“Why not? That’s what you’re doing to me?” Bart sighs and some of the coldness melts away, a little life coming back to his eyes. “Don’t think I’m something I’m not, Len. That’s what everyone does. I’m only going to disappoint you.”

The anger bleeds out of Len, leaving him just tired.

Len lays a hand on Bart’s shoulder.

“You’re not,” Len tells him. “I know you, kid.”

Bart gives him a short smile, there and gone between Len can fully catch it.

“No….you don’t,” Bart says. “Not everything. No one does.”

Len takes a long breath.

“Then, tell me, kid.”

Bart’s eyes flicker up to him, slightly terrified even as he gives a small laugh. 

“What was it again,” Bart asks. “Promise me you won’t hate me if you get an answer you don’t like?”

Something in Len’s chest clenches at the familiar words.

“I’m not going to hate you, Bart,” Len promises. “Whatever it is, I’m not going to hate you.”

Bart looks down, hands clenching again at his sides, before he finally looks up. “Okay...”

The sound of a gunshot echoes below them.

Bart meets Len’s eyes. “That came from the warehouse.”

“Stay here,” Len says, already turning back to the door.

“Wait, I can--”

“Bart,” Len orders, looking over his shoulder just briefly to meet the kid’s eyes. “ _ Stay here. _ ”

He doesn’t wait for the kid’s answer, already knocking passed the door and down the stairs.

It’s probably Axel or maybe even Hartley. Nothing to worry about, just someone who decided to play around with something they shouldn’t.

The Rogues don’t keep regular guns in the warehouse.

Len moves a little faster. His cold gun’s laying in the living room, along with all the rest of the Rogues’ weapons, waiting for Hartley to make the upgrades. They were fine there, they’re in their warehouse, they’re safe.

A voice calls out before Len can make it to the bottom of the stairs.

“Leonard Snart,” a voice says and Len doesn’t have to work very hard to recognize that particular sneer, “come out, nice and quietly, or things are about to get a whole lot messier.”

He hears Mick snorts. “Like fuck--”

There’s another gunshot.

“I thought we’d have taught you better manners last time, Rory,” the particular sneer of Luca Beretti calls out. “Snart, you better hurry before another one of my boys gets antsy.”

Len holds up his hands, walking the final steps into the open space of the warehouse. “Always knew you were the impatient type, Beretti.”

Len takes in the room as he walks, the rest of the Rogues are lined up on one half of the room, hands up and glaring hard at Beretti and the four men surrounding him, all with what looks like military grade ammunition. There’s two gun marks scorching the floor, one in front of Mick and one halfway between Hartley and Lisa.

Fuck. Len can think of a way out of this, he has to. The only saving grace is that Bart is still safe on the rooftop.

“I must apologize,” Beretti smirks. “You see my impatience comes from normally getting what I want. I’m sure you understand, Snart? Or do you prefer Captain Cold?”

“Thought you were still under house arrest,” Len spits out.

“Oh, I am. And, I’m absolutely sure that if any of the CCPD checks my ankle monitor, they’ll find it safe and sound back at my mansion.” Beretti smirks. “You see, Snart,  _ you’re  _ not the only one who has friends that can hack their way around a system.”

Hartley sighs, annoyed. “I already told you, Beretti, we didn’t hack your stupid network.”

One of Beretti’s men aims his gun at Hartley, who immediately shuts up.

Beretti raises a brow. “And I already told you, I don’t believe you. You expect an anonymous good Samaritan hacks my  _ family’s _ private server a week before we were planning to target your gang. I grew up in Gotham, Rathaway. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“What do you want, Beretti?” Len glares.

“Let’s see,” Beretti counts them down on his fingers. “Your deaths, your guns, all of Central, and I suppose you could throw in that Rembrandt over there for the trouble.”

Len narrows his eyes. “Try again, Beretti? You’re a business man. I’m sure we can make something work.”

Beretti laughs. “You seem to think you’re in some kind of position to bargain, Snart? You got something I don’t know about or you just stalling while you think of your last words?”

Beretti snaps and two of his men aim their guns directly at Len’s chest.

Len scowls, halfway to a response before someone else gets there first.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! You!”

Len’s blood goes cold.

“Fuck,” he hears Mark mutter behind him.

Bart steps down on the final stair, wondering in between Len and the guns like he’s at a park instead of the middle of a shootout.

“Kid,” Len starts, eyes still on the guns.

Beretti smiles. “Now, who’s this? I didn’t know the Rogues had gotten into the business of adopting?”

“He’s no one,” Hartley says quickly, “just some dumb, stupid kid that isn’t worth anything to you. Might as well just let him go now.”

Lisa nods frantically beside him. “Come on, Luca honey, have a heart. He’s just a kid, let him out of all this.”

Beretti actually laughs. “Now, why would I do something like that?”

“Because if you touch him, we’ll kill you,” Mick says, voice flat and devoid of even a hint that he’s anything but willing to carry through on that threat.

Beretti frowns, one of the guns moving to train on Mick. “Now, Rory, we’ve talked about that temper, haven’t we?” Beretti grins suddenly, turning back to Bart. “Come on, kid, what’s your name?”

“Bart Allen. Now, shut up for a second, would you? I’m trying to decide how to do this.” Bart rolls his eyes, glancing back at the Rogues. “Of all the people, I can’t believe  _ he’s  _ the one that actually became a threat. I told you that you shouldn’t be chasing after  _ them.  _ They’re dangerous!”

“Bart,” Len begs quietly, “get out of here.”

Bart ignores him. “Or maybe irritating’s a better word than dangerous. Yeah! That works.” He turns back to Beretti. “You guys are really, really irritating.”

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Axel whispers quietly from somewhere behind Len.

Beretti’s smile is gone. “Kid, you’re become a lot less cute by the second.”

“Irritating.” Bart shrugs. “That’s probably why I got my friend to hack your server.”

The room goes quiet, dead quiet. The kind of quiet before the thunder of a lightning crash.

“What did you say, kid,” Beretti grounds out.

“I’m not a kid,” Bart says. “You should probably keep that in mind since I had your servers hacked and turned it over to the CCPD.”

“Kid,” Beretti smiles, “you really shouldn’t be saying that.”

Bart hums.

“You really shouldn’t have come here,” Bart responds calmly.

Beretti turns to his men.

“Kill him.”

“WAIT!” Len yells. “He’s just a fucking kid, Beretti! Of course, he doesn’t actually mean all that! He just overheard us talking about it so that’s what he’s saying now!”

“That so?” Beretti makes a motion and the men with the guns shifting from Bart to Len.

Bart turns, frowning at Len. “I told you, Len, I don’t need your protection.”

“Shut up, Bart,” Len growls out before focusing on Beretti. “Let the kid go and we can talk, Beretti. You want Central? Fine. I’ll give you every file I have on it. Files that you’re not getting a snippet of unless I tell you how to get them. Just. Let. The. Kid. Go.”

Beretti looks at him and smiles. “Finally, decided to choose the winning side. Huh, Snart?”

Beretti laughs, turning back to Bart.

“It’s too bad I don’t need your help.”

He pulls out a handgun and shoots Bart in the chest.

Somebody screams. 

It might be Lisa, it might be  _ him,  _ Len can’t even tell anymore. All he can feel is the sound of a gun and the jerk of the kid’s chest almost in slow motion.

Len is an idiot.

He should’ve known he couldn’t protect anyone. Not even a kid. He’s never been able to.

He’s not a hero.

He looks to Beretti so he doesn’t have to see Bart fall, memorizes the smirk of the mob boss’ face like it’s the last thing he’ll ever see. Because, one day, Len’s going to make sure he pays. He promises.

“Wow, you should really be more careful with that.”

For the second time, the entire room stops, looking back at the kid standing in the center.

Bart rubs at his shirt, whole beating heart laying uninjured below it. “You could take someone's eye out, you know?”

“What the fuck,” Mark says in the silence.  _ “What the fuck?!” _

Beretti’s mouth hangs open, looking from the gun to Bart with an expression of bewilderment.

Bart smiles. “Want to try again?”

Beretti snaps, pointing to his men and, at once, before Len can even think of stopping them, there’s the sound of four military grade rifles, all firing directly at Bart.

Len doesn’t know what happens next. It’s too fast to process.

All he can see is a blur of lightning sparking across the room like they’re in the eye of the storm and before Len can process what he’s seeing, everything stops.

Bart stands in the middle, still grinning as lightning catches across his arms, quickly sparking off of him

He holds up full hands and opens them, the sound of bullets dropping to the floor.

“Okay,” the kid says, “and it’s things like this that make me think maybe you guys just shouldn’t have guns.”

There’s another flash of lightning and the guns are out of the men’s hands, laying disassembled around Bart’s feet.

Beretti blinks. “What?”

There’s another flash and the four men are gone, unconscious and tied up along the wall.

Len twitches his hand, looking down briefly to see his cold gun gripped between his fingers. 

Bart’s still standing in the center of the room, sparks of energy threading along his hair.

He’s no longer smiling.

Beretti stares at him. “Kid Flash?”

Bart laughs and it’s not a happy one, stepping forward to Beretti.

“I keep telling people,” he says. “I’m not a Kid.”

Beretti stumbles back, almost to the kitchen

“Flash?”

Bart shakes his head. “Now, that’s Grandpa. Need another guess. Flash fact: I’m not Jay Garrick either.” 

Beretti is backed up to the counter now. Bart standing in front of him, innocently.

“Impulse,” Beretti says.

And Bart...Bart smiles. 

“There you go,” the kid says quietly. “I knew you could get it eventually.”

Beretti swallows, trying to rally. 

“Then, you’re an  _ idiot _ ,” Beretti spits. “I’ve seen your face. I know your  _ name _ . With my kind of resources, I can find out everything. Everything you’ve ever done. Everyone you’ve ever cared about.” He smirks. “Touch any of the Berettis and you’ll have an entire mob hunting you down,  _ Impulse _ .”

Bart rocks back on his heels, frowning suddenly.

“See, this is why I don’t like you,” he says conversationally. “You’re an asshole and even worse, you’re  _ annoying _ about it.” The kid cocks his head. “What makes you think I care about having a secret identity?”

The smirk drops off Beretti’s face.

“So, anyway, I’m going to need you to get out of Central,” Bart says. “Nothing personal, it’s just this is kind of my city and I don’t like you. Plus, you shot Mick. So, really, I’m going to need you out like  _ yesterday _ . Got it?”

“Or what, kid,” Beretti tries to growl, failing miserably as his voice shakes. “I know you hero types. I’m from Gotham and you’re a far cry away from Batman, speedster. Worst you can do is turn me into the cops.””

Bart pauses and, then, he sighs, looking down. “Darn, I really wish you hadn’t said that. I hate doing this. But...”

Bart looks up through his hair and Len has just a split second to see the coldness of his expression.

“I’m not the Flash.”

And then, Bart sticks a vibrating hand straight through Beretti’s chest.

Beretti screams. Len freezes.

“Relax, you big baby, I’m just getting my phone!” 

Bart rolls his eyes, hand emerging from the chest. He holds up a phone with a lit up screen. 

“It was on the counter behind you,” he says innocently as if the man in front of him isn’t still halfway to hyperventilating, clawing at his chest as if he expecting to find it bloody. 

“Anyway,” Bart continues, “ugh, I really hate asking for help in Central.  _ But,  _ I do have some friends in Gotham that would love to see you again. And that’s probably the best option since, you’re right, I don’t really try to kill people.” The kid’s smile brightens. “At least, not anymore. So, what do you say? Get out of Central or should I call my friends?”

“Get the _ fuck _ away from me,” Beretti yells, voice high and frantic. “The shit even are you?! Fine! I’ll go back to Gotham! Just  _ get away from me! _ ”

“Great!” Bart leans back and claps his hands together.. “Let me give you and your friends a ride, then! Make sure to tell the CCPD what you just told me!”

The kid grabs Beretti’s shirt and a moment later, they’re both gone in a streak of lightning, the rest of Beretti’s men disappearing a second later until, finally, it’s just Bart, standing in front of the kitchen counter and looking back at the Rogues.

_ Impulse. _

Len meets his eyes, finding suddenly that his cold gun is up and he’s not sure when that happened. An instinct from reacting to speedsters.

Bart gives him a rueful smile. “Still promise, Len?”

Len doesn’t answer, can’t find the words in time, and Bart sighs, looking down at his feet.

“Yeah, I didn’t really expect you to.”

There’s a flash of lightning and, then, the kid’s gone.

Len lowers his gun, still staring at the spot where Bart was.

“What…..,” Axel swallows. “What just happened?”

“We found Impulse,” Hartley answers, tone clipped. 

Funny. Len always expected to feel different hearing those words.

  
  


\-----

Bart doesn’t come back to the warehouse that week. Or the week after that. Or that month.

Len’s not surprised. He didn’t expect him to. 

  
  
  


\-----

Len goes back to the museum. It’s a Wednesday night.

He brings flowers. Because that’s what you do when you visit a grave and if he has flowers, he can pretend that’s still why he’s here.

It’s dark inside the museum. Quiet, too, in a way it shouldn’t be. Halls of memorabilia, of plaques, of exhibits and not a single thing that Len really cares about. And right in the middle is the statue.

Len squints up at it.

“Hey, Scarlet,” he says quietly, “I’m not quite sure what to do here.”

He sighs, leaning against the railing. “It used to be a lot easier. Back when it was just stealing stuff and planning and waiting to see if you could catch us. Simple, clear. I  _ liked  _ it that way. Now,” Len rubs his face, “now there’s kids out there and invasions and I’m not even sure where us Rogues should fall into it.”

“I’m not a hero, Flash,” he says, looking up at the statue. “None of us Rogues are. I don’t know how to be. And it doesn’t matter what  _ you  _ or your goody two shoes little speeches wanted from me. I  _ can’t  _ be a hero.” He looks down. “Kid needs a hero, Scarlet. He needs  _ you _ . And, maybe, the Kid. He needs a family. So, why the fuck did you have to go and die in a stupid invasion and leave it all up to me?”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Len jerks his head up.

“I can leave,” Bart says, yellow goggles pushed up in his hair and ratty shoes traded in for a red and white uniform. “Actually, I should leave. Let me just--”

“Wait,” Len orders.

Bart stops.

“Kid….,” Len swallows, “you’ve got to learn to give people a second to answer. It’s important.”

Bart gives a small smile. “Sorry, guess I’m just impatient. Besides, what does it matter if I can guess what they’re going to say.”

“Because sometimes they surprise you,” Len answers before clearing his throat. “So, Impulse, huh, kid?”

Impulse. Bart. If there’s one thing that Len’s realized in the month since he’s seen the kid it’s that he should have been far less surprised. When it gets down to it, Len’s been chasing him in one way or another since he first saw the headline.

And you can never really catch a speedster.

They have to come to you.

“You didn’t ask,” Bart says quickly. “If you asked, I would’ve told you.”

“I  _ did  _ ask,” Len corrects. “...I just didn’t know what I was asking.”

Bart fidgets and now that Len knows, now that he can  _ see  _ it, he can tell what they actually are: tiny aborted movements and expressions cut short before Len can even process them. He wonders how much easier it is to hide when you react faster than anyone else.

Bart...Bart’s always been a strange kid. 

The kid gestures to the flowers. “I can still leave. I mean, if you just came to talk to  _ him _ , I understand. I can go.”

“Don’t bother, kid,” Len says. “I didn’t show up to see a statue.”

Bart frowns.

“Do you...do you want to see something else then,” Bart asks suddenly.

Len gestures to the empty atrium. “Isn’t much else to see.”

“Not here,” Bart chews on his lip reaching out to Len before stopping. “Will you...will you trust me? Just for a second.”

Like Len’s really been doing anything else but trusting Bart.

He sighs. “Sure, kid. Go ahead.”

Bart grabs his hand.

Traveling faster than the speed of sound never becomes normal. Not for Len, at least. There’s the phantom pressure of arms grabbing onto you and the sudden chill of wind and then it’s all gone and you’re standing in a different place, still trying to catch your breath.

Len hunches over, coughing up half a lung as he tries to get his bearings back around him.

“Sorry,” Bart says from somewhere beside him, “for some people, it’s worse with distances.”

Len blinks up, surprised to see tombstones and scattered flowers blowing in the cool night wind. They’re in a graveyard--Central City Memorial, by the looks of it.

“Why are we here,” Len asks.

Bart shrugs, gesturing to the graves. “You said you weren’t there to see a statue. Thought you’d like this better.”

Len stares down at the tombstone.

_ Bartholomew “Barry” Allen _ . 

_ Loving husband and uncle  _

_ “Every second is a gift.” _

“Wally’s is over here,” Bart says, gesturing to one a little bit down. “You can put the flowers anywhere. Jay and Nightwing usually leave theirs in the stand.”

Len nods without really listening, still looking down at the grave with an emotion he doesn’t know how to process.

It’s ordinary. That’s what he thinks keeps getting him. Just an ordinary grave for an ordinary man laid out in the usual family plots. Len’s mother and grandfather are buried barely a few rows away from here in a plot roughly the same. Ordinary, plain. Len could’ve walked by this plot dozens of times, hundreds, and nothing would have stuck out except the bright red carnations sitting innocently on top.

It doesn’t work for the Flash, not the city’s hero, bright and larger than life.

He wonders if it works better for Barry Allen.

He lays his flowers beside the carnations. “Is this really him?”

“Yep,” Bart’s suddenly beside him, “that’s Grandpa. Or, well you know, his casket. They didn’t really have anything to bury with the Invasion.”

Len looks at the dates. “Grandpa?”

“It’s a long story,” Bart says. “And I kind of already gave you guys the summary anyway.”

“I thought you were lying about the time travel,” Len admits quietly.

“Honestly, it’s more dimension travel than time at this point,” Bart confesses. “There was an apocalypse. It was bad. Here’s better. Here’s  _ a lot  _ better. Even if it still doesn’t have Grandpa and Wally.”

Len doesn’t even know what to say to that.

“We thought you were in a gang,” he says instead.

Len thought a lot of things. Half of them he still thinks are true.

Bart gives a weak laugh. “Yeah, um, no gang. Just the Titans, which I guess  _ is  _ kind of a gang if you look at the strict definitions; but, I don’t think that’s really what you meant.”

“You got hurt.”

Bart’s expression flickers, landing finally on a slight frown. “Not for long. I heal quick.  _ Really  _ quick. The bruises were gone the next day.”

“But, we didn’t know that,” he says flatly because he needs Bart to understand even if  _ Len  _ doesn’t even know what he’s saying. “We were worried.” 

Bart winces. “Yeah?”

Len pauses, an echo of his usual smirk playing across is lips. “The rest of the Rogues, I mean. They were worried.”

The kid looks down. “I’m sorry.”

“And you didn’t come back,” Len continues. “After the Berettis, you didn’t come back.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me back.”

“We were worried.”

Bart keeps looking down. “Were you worried?”

Len turns back to the headstone.

“You should come back to the warehouse. Hartley keeps itching about not having anyone to talk physics. Plus, Lisa and Axel keeps moping. Apparently, they miss you.”

The kid looks up and slowly, far too slow for a speedster, he smiles. “Did  _ you  _ miss me?”

As if Len really needs to think about it.

“.....yeah, kid. Yeah, I missed you.”

Bart grins and Len pretends it doesn’t make him feel better.

Bart straightens. “Want me to take you back to the museum?”

Len pauses, looking once more to the graves.

“Give me a moment.”

Bart rocks back, looking between Len and the headstone for one second before he nods. “Okay, I’ll be at Wally’s.”

There’s a flash of lightning and then he’s gone and it’s just Len and a row of tombstones.

Len leans down, crouching until he’s at eye level with the name.

_ Bartholomew “Barry” Allen. _

The Flash.

“Okay, Scarlet,” Len whispers to the man, “you win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I will admit that I am very nervous about this story so, please, if you have the time, take a second to leave a comment and tell me what you think.


	4. 12 Days of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy a (mostly) cheesey and (slightly) belated Christmas short story!

_ December 5 _

It starts like this.

“Hey, Bart,” Jay Garrick says one morning with that very particular tone, “come here for a second.”

Bart knows that tone. Bart kind of hates that tone because that’s Jay’s let’s-have-a-serious-discussion tone and, from Bart’s experience, those tend to end with Jay a bit sad and Bart a bit mad and absolutely no one actually happy with having said conversation.

Bart wonders if sprinting to the zeta is still a viable option.

Probably not. Jay would just wait until whenever he came back.

For a speedster, Jay is surprisingly patient.

Bart sits at the table. “Yeah?”

Jay gives him a small smile. “It’s nothing bad, kiddo, I only wanted to ask about your Christmas plans?”

Bart blinks.

“....my what?”

“I know you’ll have the Titans party Christmas Eve and, well, I understand you’re not big on celebrating.” Jay gives a slight grimace, looking down at the coffee in his hands. “I just thought after you were gone all day last year, we should try to make some plan. We’re the only family we’ve got, you know?”

Bart….Bart has absolutely no idea what Jay is talking about.

“Now, I’m not asking for anything big,” Jay continues. “I know you’d rather be visiting with your friends. The rest of the original JSA normally tries to throw something together for the holidays so you don’t need to worry about me. Maybe you and I could do something small like have Christmas morning together. Will that work, kiddo?”

“Um, sure,” Bart says, still feeling off balance.

Jay’s smile widens like Bart said something particularly wonderful.

Okay, great.

Now, Bart just has to figure out what this whole “Christmas” thing is supposed to be and why Jay seems so hung up on it.

  
  
  


\-----

_ December 8 _

Bart really doesn’t like feeling behind.

He’s not sure if it’s something inherent about his personality or the fact that he spent the first thirteen years of his life in a world where not knowing a potential danger meant you died.

Either way, in the past two years, Bart has gotten annoyingly used to the feeling, like being out of a loop no one else even thinks exist. He supposes it’s the peril of being a time traveler--people always assume he knows more than he does.

It’s been three days since Jay talked to him and in that time, Bart has read 12 encyclopediae, 32 history books, and 2,378 articles about Christmas which included everything from ancient pagan winter festivals, legends about rangifer tarandus with aviation capabilities, and way too many fiction novels about sad people with hypothermia.

None of which Bart is exactly sure why Jay wants to celebrate.

Context, he needs context.

“So….Christmas,” Bart asks, the next time he’s at the Rogue’s new hideout.

Sue him, Bart’s never thought he was particularly subtle. He tells the truth mostly, it’s not his fault people don’t believe him.

Mick rolls his eyes. “Relax, kid, we’re not heartless. Len ain’t planning any major jobs for the holidays.”

“What,” Bart asks, freshly disappointed. “What do you mean you guys don’t have any jobs planned? Your jobs are the best part of patrol!”

“Bart,” Len levels a look at him, “it’s Christmas. Take a break.”

See and this,  _ this  _ right here is what Bart doesn’t understand.

“Why would I take a break?”

Lisa laughs from her spot on the couch, grinning up at him. “Cute. But, trust me, honey, don’t go too overboard with those workaholic tendencies. You’ll end up like Len.”

Len turns from Bart to glare at his sister.

“No, ugh,” Bart collapses on the couch between Lisa and Mark, “I  _ mean  _ why would I take a break for Christmas? What’s important about it? What is it?”

The Rogues all turn and look at each other and Bart feels that creeping sense of falling behind crawl down his spine.

“You…,” Mark frowns, “Bart, you don’t know what Christmas is?”

Bart huffs. “It’s a Christian holiday taking place on December 25th. Shortened from the name ‘mass on Christ’s day’ from the Anglo-Saxon and Germanic yule. Originally thought to be adapted by the Catholic Church from the pagan tradition--”

“No!” Axel buries his face in his hands, snickering. “You’re so weird, it sounds like you got that from an encyclopedia.” 

Which isn’t fair. Bart got it from several encylopediae.

“Axel, shut up,” Len orders, focusing on Bart. “You never celebrated Christmas when you were growing up?”

“No,” Bart answers and…it’s not like they exactly had calendars anyway--not back in Bart’s world. Hard to celebrate a day when you didn’t even have real seasons. Wally probably mentioned it before he died, Bart can vaguely remember something like that. But that had been years ago.

“Aww, that’s kind of sad.” Axel blinks. “Wait, what about last year? You got here two years ago, right?”

“Er,” Bart blushes, “Last year, I think I might’ve...um, forgot. Kind of.”

“You forgot Christmas,” Hartley deadpans.

“Well, I mean,” Bart blows a piece of hair out of his face, trying to remember, “I think the Titans had some kind of party so I went to that...probably. But, then I guess I….got distracted?”

He probably went to Canada. Bart likes Canada, lots of open space. It’s fun to run through.

The Rogues are all staring at him now.

“I didn’t know it was important,” Bart argues.

Lisa frowns, turning to her brother. “Len, fix this.”

“Fix this yourself, Lis’.” Len rolls his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, the cold gun doesn’t make me Father Christmas.”

“That’s it!” Axel says cheerfully in a tone even Bart has learned to be somewhat wary for.

He points to Bart. “Bart Allen, the Rogues are going to show you the true meaning of Christmas!”

There’s a long beat.

“Well, this is a terrible idea,” Mick says.

  
  
  
  


\-----

_ December 9 _

It’s been five minutes and Jaime is still laughing, nearly hunched over his desk.

Bart waits it out, leaning back on Jaime’s bed and stretching his legs out over the comforter.

“It’s really not that weird,” Bart says.

“Oh, it  _ is _ . It definitely is,” Jaime says, laughter finally dying down enough to speak. “Hermano, you have the  _ weirdest  _ relationship with your criminals known to man.”

Bart rolls his eyes. “It works.”

“It does,” Jaime agrees. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it; but, it actually does.”

“They like you, you know. If you want to meet them again,” Bart consciously slows down his hand, keeping it at least at visible speeds as he runs it through his hair. “If you ever wanted to hang around a bit more in Central, I mean.”

Jaime pauses before giving that smile where his eyes crinkle a little at the corners and Bart feel a bit out of breath--which he finds particularly ridiculous considering he can break Mach 7 without getting winded.

He swallows, not being the first to look away.

“So, got any idea how they’re going to be the ghosts to your Ebenezer Scrooge,” Jaime asks, voice softer and a little bit warmer than before.

Bart blinks. “What?”

“Must not have gotten to that one yet.” Jaime smiles. “Any clue what they have planned?”

Bart shrugs. “Oh, you know, probably something dramatic.”

  
  
  


\-----

_ December 12 _

“Gather around, young disciple of merriment, ye olde student of cheer. For I, your humble teacher, am about to introduce you to greatest meaning of Christmas ever before seen.” Axel gestures his arms wide. “Presents.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Hartley complains.

Around the three, the Central City mall is bright, festive, and absolutely teeming with people. Bart’s already had to save five customers from running each other over and it hasn’t even been ten minutes.

“Isn’t this a little bit…,” Bart pauses, trying to remember that phrase from one of the articles, “‘a materialistic destruction of the season only made possible by capitalistic greed.’”

“Yes,” Hartley answers immediately.

Axel glares at his fellow Rogue. “Why did you even come?”

“Entertainment.” Hartley sniffs. “I didn’t think you’d be dragging us to the mall in the middle of  _ December _ !”

Axel doesn’t bother responding, grabbing Bart’s arm and pulling him forward. “Ignore Hartley, he’s just antisocial. The mall is the absolutely greatest first stop in understanding Christmas and I’m taking you to the very best part. Behold!” He grins, pointing ahead. “The toy store.”

Bart’s eyes widen.

If the mall was full, the toy store is  _ beyond  _ full. Bart’s seen people running from supervillians that were less frantic.

Hartley turns to Axel. “I hate you.”

“There’s that Christmas spirit,” Axel says before boldly dragging them both in. “You see, Bart, the holidays have a very special tradition where you get presents for people you care about. And what better presents than toys?”

Hartley snorts, trying to push back through the crowd only to get elbowed in the opposite direction. He swears.

Axel runs a reverent hand across a display for some kind of new toy gun with foam projectiles. “So, kid, really when you get down to it. All these people in here. They aren’t capitalistic. No, they’re martyrs--sacrificing their time and quite possibly their very safety, all to experience the true meaning of Christmas.” Axel wipes a fake tear from his eyes. “Touching, really.”

“Tell that to the retail workers,” Hartley says, before craning his neck to see the shelf he just got shoved into. “Hey, Axel, get over here for a second. They’ve got little Impulse dolls with The Rogues expansion packs.”

Axel’s eyes light up. “Ooh! Neat! Do they have a Trickster action figure?”

“Who would want one,” Hartley asks, but obligingly hands over a figure in garish blue and yellow colors.

“I’m famous,” he says in awe, quickly grabbing another three packs off the shelves and shoving them in Bart’s arms.

Bart looks down at the figures, squinting as he tries to make out his likeness.

It’s alright. The Captain Cold one is better.

“Did you even look at the price tag,” Hartley asks.

Axel shrugs. “They’re action figures how much could they be?”

Hartley chuckles ominously before a venerable crowd of people shoves between them, knocking Axel and Bart back into the picked over and therefore, less crowded baby clothing section.

Axel hums, looking around and trying to reorient them. “I don’t suppose you could phase through some people. Right, kid?”

“Probably not this many,” Bart admits. “So….is Christmas just about buying stuff?”

Axel actually pauses, looking down at him before he tsks. 

“Now, Bart, you should’ve been around us long enough to know that  _ buying  _ things isn’t the important part. And, hey, in this case, it’s not even stealing them either. It’s the  _ experience _ .” 

Axel grins. “See, for Christmas, it’s not about how big the present is or how much it’s worth. It’s just about..hmm...okay, how do I describe it? It’s about thinking of someone important and then seeing that one thing that’s like  _ Wow _ , they’ve got to have this. And then,  _ you  _ get to give it to them and they love it and,” He shrugs, “well, it’s nice, you know? Like you made their lives better just by thinking of them.”

“Oh,” Bart says, frowning in contemplation.

That does sound….well, a lot better than what Bart was expecting.

Axel claps him across the back. “Now, come on. Let’s go find Hartley before he breaks the no-kill rule and murders a shopper.”

  
  
  


\-----

_ December 14 _

“Crap,” Tim mutters, shaking out his hand as he tries to hold the garland steady around the stair rail. “Bart, hand me another piece of fishing wire before this dumb decoration tries to impale me again.”

Bart complies, eyeing the greenery with the kind of intense fascination he normally devotes to chemical equations, the latest Rogue’s plans, and that weird way Jaimie’s mouth twists when he’s focusing.

“Hey, Tim.”

Tim doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“Your family’s like...kind of rich, right?”

“Obscenely,” Tim grumbles with an expression that says he knows  _ exactly  _ where Bart’s going.

“So, can’t you just,” he gestures to the garland, “I don’t know, pay someone to do this for you.”

Tim looks at him with dead eyes. 

“Yes,” he says before leaning above the rail and yelling down the hall, “WE  _ COULD  _ JUST PAY SOMEONE TO DECORATE!”

_ “It’s tradition!”  _ Dick singsongs from somewhere in the kitchen.

“It’s a risk to life and limb,” Tim calls back, brandishing his cut fingers. “Come look at this, I’m going to get gangrene by the time I finish the stupid stairs!”

Jason cackles, striding through the foyer with boxes of ornaments stacked above his head. “Then, be more coordinated. Besides, you haven’t even  _ seen  _ the tree yet. We talked Alfie into getting a twelve footer this year.”

Tim waits until Jason’s made it to the kitchen before turning back to Bart. From somewhere, bright, happy music starts playing that echoes around Tim like a dirge.

“I’ve literally never seen Jason and Dick agree on something more,” he says flatly. “It’s terrifying.”

“What’s the big deal,” Bart asks, passing over a bow when Tim holds out a hand.

“I don’t even know,” he sighs. “It’s not like we’re even going to get to celebrate that much before one of Gotham’s villains breaks out.” He eyes Bart. “By the way, want to join the pool? Jason and Alfred are betting on Mr. Freeze, Dick and Babs got Calendar Man, and I’m going with Penguin.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Bart says. Really, people think  _ Bart’s  _ the one that’s weird about his villains. __

“Suit yourself.” Tim says, already distracted by keeping everything in place long enough to tie down.

“Truthfully, I don’t really get Christmas,” Tim admits quietly, not looking up. “For me, it just meant not getting to go to school and my parents dressing me up for their boring office parties and galas. And then after the Invasion,” he shrugs, “I didn’t really see the point in decorating if it was just me.”

He finally secures the end of the garland, leaning back to gaze at it with utter triumph before looking back at Bart.

Tim’s smile softens. “I know Jason and his mom used to do what they could, though, and Dick is...well,  _ Dick _ ; so….,” he gestures around to the red and green decor spreading around nearly every inch of the manor, “they like to go all out now that they can. And I guess I don’t mind  _ that much  _ as long as it’s just once a year.”

He grabs the box of decorations, stepping down to the foyer. “THAT STILL DOESN’T MEAN I LIKE DOING THE GARLAND!”

“You have the smallest hands,” Dick answers.

“That’s a dirty lie!” He twists back to Bart. “What about you? You can come spend Christmas at the manor if you want?”

“Can’t,” Bart says. “I think the Rogues have something planned.”

He frowns. “What? Like a bank robbery?”

“Ugh, I wish. I think they’re throwing a party,”

Tim stares at him. Bart stares back.

Finally, Tim sighs. “....I really don’t understand Central.”

  
  
  
  


\-----

_ December 17 _

Bart is...confused.

It’s not a new feeling, he kind of wishes it was; but, still two years being in this world and things still catch him unguarded. They’re normally good things, kind in a way that Bart’s world had forgotten how to be.

Somehow, that doesn’t make it any less sharp.

Bart’s read dictionaries before; thesauruses, too,  _ lots  _ of them; mixed in with bounds of psychology books with small print and jargon that make him want to doze off or trade it in for a physics journal.

The point is this: kindness doesn’t have to mean painless.

Bart frowns, staring out at the packed hall, jammed to the corners with small smiles and easy conversation even with tired faces still hunkered down over the casseroles. He’s been here the entire afternoon and a large part of him still can’t believe this place exists. That it’s here in his own city without him ever knowing about it.

“Here, kid,” Sam comes to stand next to him, shoving a styrofoam cup in his hands. “Drink up, you’ve earned it.”

Bart blinks down at the hot chocolate before staring up at Sam. “How’d you find out about this place?”

“What? The soup kitchen?” Sam shrugs. “It’s been here for years. Back when I was your age, Ma used to drag me and my brothers here to volunteer every holiday.”

He notices Bart’s still staring.

“It’s not that unusual, kid,” he says, sipping at his own cup. “Most cities have at least one.”

Bart swallows, throat oddly dry. “That’s...that’s good.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever really going to be used to this world. It’s too strange for him to fully comprehend even with Wally’s stories still pounding against his brain.

Sam continues to watch him. “Yeah, well, I can’t say it helps everyone and I  _ definitely  _ won’t say it shouldn’t be more; but, even the little things help sometimes, you know? Gotta watch out for your fellow man, even us Rogues. It’s the Christmas spirit.”

Bart nods distracted, still frowning out at the hall. 

“Future didn’t have these either, then,” Sam guesses quietly.

“No.”

The quiet lays around them like a blanket while Bart continues to think.

“You okay, kid?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says absently.

“Bart.”

Bart glances back over to find Sam watching him, a small smile on his face that doesn’t quite chase the seriousness out of his eyes.

He slides a pack of crackers into Bart’s hands. 

“You need to eat, kid,” the Rogue says gently. “You haven’t had anything all afternoon. You’re a speedster, you need the calories.”

Bart blinks, slowly taking a sip of hot chocolate and tearing into the crackers.

“Thanks,” Bart says. “For bringing me here….and for the crackers.”

Sam leans back, shrugging again. “Well, you know, I figured I had to show you  _ something  _ about what Christmas should be about.” He rolls his eyes. “Especially after Axel dragged you to a  _ mall. _ ” 

  
  
  
  


\-----

_ December 20 _

“Oh, and definitely ‘Little Drummer Boy’,” Lisa adds, shoving another pile of paper into Bart’s hands. “There, think you got it?”

“Sure.” Bart shrugs. “I’m not that great at singing, though.”

“Who is,” Hartley mutters, fiddling with the knobs on his keyboard again. “Lisa’s pitchy, Mark’s flat, and Axel sounds like someone tried to resuscitate roadkill. The only halfway decent singer we have is  _ Mick  _ and he bolted as soon as Lisa found sheet music _. _ ”

Lisa glares. “What Harty-Hart means is you’ll be fine.” She sighs. “Especially, since  _ someone  _ still insists we can’t actually go caroling.”

“We’re wanted criminals, Lis’,” Len deadpans. “We’re not going door to door.”

“Plus, it’s caroling.” Mark grimaces.

Lisa ignores them completely, snapping as Axel hands over an actual checklist. “So, that’s Christmas carols, Axel handled presents, Sam got charity, Hartley covered Hanukkah--” 

Axel flops his head over the couch. “Still say that one wasn’t  _ technically  _ about Christmas!”

“Shut up,” Hartley glares over the keyboard. “Mark took him to a living nativity scene, I was  _ at least _ making sure he knows what a menorah is.”

“Fair,” Mark agrees. 

Lisa hums, looking up at Len. “ _ You  _ haven’t done anything yet, brother dear.” 

Len smirks. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

“You better,” she says ominously before looking down at the list, her eyes sparkling dangerously. “And, of course, I have ice skating tomorrow. Right, Bart?” 

“Ah, yeah?”

Sam actually shudders. “You’re _ so _ lucky you’ve got super healing. I think I almost lost a foot last time.”

“Quitter.” Lisa kisses his cheek before smiling gleefully at Bart. “That’s the secret, okay, sweetie? The ice can _ feel  _ weakness.”

Bart genuinely doesn’t understand how people could think the Rogues  _ aren’t  _ terrifying.

Lisa taps her finger against her chin. “Anything else we’re forgetting?”

“Nah, we’ve got the most important parts already, right,” Axel leans over her shoulder. “All we’ve got left is the stupid stuff like fruit cake and mistletoe.”

_ “No. _ ” Len says immediately, already giving Axel a death glare. “We’re not telling the kid about mistletoe.”

Lisa raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “Oh, come on, Lenny. For all we know, he already read it.”

All at once, Bart finds six pairs of eyes drawn directly towards him.

“Um, mistletoe, also known as viscum album or phoradendron leucarpum, depending on the species--an evergreen plant, slightly poisonous…,” Bart trails off, only to find them still staring at him. He hastily tacks on, “Associated with the death of Baldur in Norse mythology?”

Mark breathes out, ending in a slight chuckle. “Yeah, kid, you got it. It’s a poisonous murder weapon.”

The Rogues seem to relax, looking at each other and smirking and Bart feels that itchy creeping feeling come back.

“What am I missing,” he asks suspiciously.

“Nothing.” Len fixes the rest of the Rogues with a stare, effectively ending the conversation. “Absolutely nothing.”

  
  
  
  


\-----

_ December 21 _

“Christmas is a war zone,” Gar says, face serious even with flour streaked all the way up to his hair. “And she’s the General.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Martha Kent winks, slamming another bowl of dough down in front of them. “Try to roll this one out a bit thicker, okay, boys?”

Gar tosses a lazy salute, unnoticed as Martha turns abruptly to the other side of the kitchen. “Kara, honey, do  _ not  _ use heat vision on that gingerbread! You’ll burn the bottoms!”

“But, the oven’s already full!”

Gar elbows Bart, whispering under his breath. “Not like it matters, Kara burns water.”

“How many of these are there,” Bart asks with something approaching awe as Johnathan Kent brings in at least another five  _ pounds  _ of butter.

Martha hums. “Let’s see, a good five dozen for the neighbors, six more to drop off at the Tower, three for Clark’s old friends at the Planet, a few for home, and a couple extra batches in case we forgot anyone.” Her eyes light up. “Oh, Kara, don’t forget to bring a tin over to Vic and Dr. Stone’s later today, alright? I made sure to put  _ extra  _ chocolate chips in his.”

Kara blushes bright red.  _ “Mom!” _

Martha laughs, sliding a tupperware over to Bart as she does. “And here, honey, help with the baking and you get first dibs. That’s how it works in the Kent house.”

“Sounds like bribery,” Gar teases.

Martha smirks, wiping more flour across his nose. “I prefer incentivisation.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“That’s the holidays,” Martha answers cheerfully as she passes them cookie cutters.

“So, this is Christmas?” Bart gestures around at the mess of the kitchen.

Martha considers. “Well, definitely not all of it. But, probably my favorite part, sure.” 

“But, you can bake anytime,” Bart says, grinning when he finds a cutter shaped like a bolt of lightning. “If you like it, why wait once a year?”

“Because otherwise we’d all die of food comas.” Kara steals a snickerdoodle fast enough that only Bart can see her move.

Martha just smiles. “Some things just work better if you don’t do them all the time. It makes them  _ mean  _ more--shows people they’re not forgotten even if it’s just something small like cookies. Besides, we don’t want everyone to get tired of it, right?”

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of free food,” Bart says honestly.

Gar rolls his eyes. “Speedster.”

Martha laughs, tapping on the tupperware beside Bart. “How’s this? How about you wait and give some of these cookies to someone special. It doesn’t have to be anything big. That’s not what the cookies are about. Just a little gesture to say you’re thinking of them. That you didn’t forget. Got it?”

Bart looks down at the tupperware, frowning a little bit. “....Okay?”

“Someone special, huh?” Gar waggles his eyebrows at Kara. “You mean like  _ Vic _ ?”

Kara glares back. “ _ You, _ I can kill.” 

“Heroes don’t kill.”

“I’ll make an exception.”

  
  
  


\-----

_ December 22 _

Bart drops next to Len on the roof. Len doesn’t seem surprised to see him

“Looks like it’s going to snow this year,” Len says, nodding up at the grey of the sky.

“Huh.” Bart considers. “Guess that counts as another Christmas thing then, doesn’t it?”

“My sister’s got a lot of tricks up her sleeves, but even  _ she  _ can’t take credit for the weather. And I’m definitely not giving credit to Axel.” He raises an eyebrow. “Speaking of, you’re missing the movie marathon. She picked some good ones this time, too--the classics.”

“I kind of hate movies,” Bart confesses. “It gets boring and I can never speed up enough so it’s not just frame by frame. Hard to keep track.”

“Told her they should’ve picked something else.” He pauses. “Like learning to chop down a tree. That’s probably festive.”

“Probably?”

Len rolls his eyes. “I grew up in a city, kid. How am I supposed to know? Closest I’ve been to the woods is the park.”

“That’s probably why she didn’t pick it.” Bart grins. “People really do  _ all  _ of this every year?”

“Axel and Lis’ may have made it a bit more...involved this time _. _ ”

Bart bump his shoulder against Len’s. “You haven’t done anything yet?”

“Neither has Mick,” he deadpans. “But, I don’t hear anyone breathing down his neck.”

Bart laughs.

“Scared I’m going to forget, kid?”

“Nah,” Bart says honestly. “Just curious.”

Len snorts, letting quiet fall around them and for a second, Bart just lets himself watch the sky.

  
  
  
  


\-----

_ December 23 _

“So, anyway, that’s what’s been happening with me. Sorry I haven’t been by to see you lately.” Bart throws in an eye roll because it makes him feel better. “Although, really, if you think about it, this is kind of  _ your  _ fault anyway for not giving me a heads up this whole Christmas thing is supposed to be important.”

Bart blows a piece of hair out of his eyes, mouth pulling down. “Guess you didn’t think I’d ever need to know.” 

Snowflakes hang in the air, right in front of his face, and he tries to calculate their eventual paths. Bart speaks quietly. “No, that’s not fair.  _ You  _ probably hoped I’d get to find out anyway, somehow ...even with ...even with everything. You liked to think things like that.” His lip quirks up. “Probably didn’t expect the time travel, though.”

Bart crouches down, eyeing the gravestone in front of him. “Hey, Wally, I kind of got a confession for you, too. I don’t...I don’t think I’m too good at this. The Christmas thing, I mean.” He lets himself fall back until he’s sitting in the snow, the snowflakes unmoving above him. “I’m not stupid. I get it now. The context. I know what they’re trying to say with the cookies and the presents and...and even the  _ decorations _ . They’re all about other people, right? Thinking about what makes them happy.”

He stares at the sky instead of the grave. “Everything’s so complicated here. It’s not...it’s not like back  _ there.  _ Back there, everything was  _ fast,  _ you  _ knew  _ what people wanted because it was obvious, you just couldn’t do anything about it. Here….,” he shakes his head, “it’s all slower, Wally. People have time to think, to make traditions and be alive long enough to do them every year, they can... _ care  _ about things. All the time.” He pauses. “I’m not good at knowing what people care about. I don’t...I don’t understand them. I never have and especially, not  _ here. _ ”

He breathes out, concentrating to pull himself back, slow down his mind enough until the snow finally starts falling around him

“Anyway, Ms. Kent said that I should give these to someone special and since it’s not like you needed more flowers, here.” He places a couple of cookies right at the head of the grave. “I haven’t forgotten you.”

  
  
  


\-----

_ December 24 _

No one on Earth has parties like the Titans have parties.

They’re wild, actually and utterly chaotic in the mix of music and laughter and snatches of conversation and frankly just  _ bizarre  _ occurrences that are really only possible when there’s an entire Tower filled with teenagers and young adults with superpowers.

Bart  _ loves  _ them.

He flashes from one room to the next for at least the fifth time that night, not even bothering to stay still long enough to join in. Instead, he just sits back and watches everyone move, loud and constant enough that Bart can almost feel like he doesn’t have to slow down.

Unsurprisingly, Bart eventually finds himself in the kitchen.

“Knew I couldn’t be the only one that’s starving,” Raquel says, pushing a plate of food at him even with one hand on her heavily pregnant stomach. 

“Thanks.” Bart tilts his head, staring at the bright red and vaguely familiar thing sitting on her head. “Neat hat.”

Raquel snorts, pulling it off by a white puff ball attached to the end. “If you like it so much, you can take it. Only have it now because Karen forced it on me for the party.” She stuffs it on his head, grinning. “Besides, it’s your color.”

Bart hums. “So, it’s a Christmas thing?”

“Kind of silly, isn’t it?” Raquel levers herself up. “Now, come on, I heard Donna’s trying to talk Dick into another dance off and  _ someone’s  _ gotta get video evidence.”

Bart pushes the hat up when it tries to slip. “I thought they banned them after last time.”

“Like _ that _ was ever going to last.”

A laugh echoes over the rest of the crowd and Bart pauses before he even realizes it, eyes glancing over the room to catch the smile and the person he knows it’s attached.

Bart’s grinning when he turns back to Raquel. “I’ll catch up later.”

Raquel follows his eye line before pressing her lips together in a way that says she’s trying not to laugh. “Got it.”

“Thanks for the hat,” Bart says.

And then, he’s  _ gone _ , flashing across the room in the direction of the laugh before finally he’s slinging his arms around a pair of shoulders and leaning over. “Hey, her _ man _ -o.”

Jaime rolls his eyes as he smiles back, at least half over Bart’s continuing butchery to the Spanish language. “Hey.” He eyes the hat. “So, you’re Santa now? The Rogue’s plan must have worked better than I thought.”

Bart shrugs. “Raquel told me it’s a Christmas hat.”

“It’s a Santa hat,” He reaches out, adjusting it slightly. “You know not everyone can pull off red plush and fake fur; but, it looks good on you.”

“You think?” Bart hums, stretching out on his toes to hook his chin on Jaime’s shoulder. “She  _ did  _ say it was my color.”

“Red’s  _ always _ going to be your color,” Jaime huffs, amused. He moves smoothly out of Bart’s grip and Bart tries not to feel too disappointed about it as Jaimie grabs his arm and pulls him forward. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

“If it’s the dance off, Raquel already told me.”

“It’s not the dance off. Better”

“Huh. You know that’s a pretty high bar to beat.”

Jaime laughs, reaching for the door to the outside balcony. “Oh, well if I can’t beat the dance off…”

“I didn’t say you  _ couldn’t  _ beat it,” Bart follows him out, “I just said it’s a high bar. Don’t worry, I believe in you.”

Jaime grins, reaching down for his bag. “I needed to grab my backpack.”

Bart hops up to sit on the rail, waiting for him. “You put it outside?”

“Best place for a drink not to spill on it.” He shrugs before he apparently finds what he’s looking for. His smile goes a bit shy as he looks up at Bart. “Um, I might’ve kind of gotten you something. A Christmas present.”

Bart’s smile drops. “But, I didn’t...I didn’t get you anything.” His hands grip tightly on the rail. “Oh, crap, Jaime, I’m sorry, I didn’t think--I can go find something! Wait here--”

“Bart,” Jaime cuts him off with a laugh, “you’re fine. I didn’t expect you to. I wanted to  _ surprise _ you.”

“But, I would’ve gotten you something,” Bart insists because suddenly, it’s incredibly important that Jaime  _ knows  _ this, because Jaime’s important, and Bart didn’t--

“Then, how about next year,” Jaime says like a promise.

Bart stops. Jaime smiles back at him.

“Next year,” Bart repeats.

“Yeah,” Jaime agrees. “Next year. But, for this year, let me just give something to  _ you _ , alright? For your first real Christmas.”

“Okay,” Bart says.

“Okay,” Jaime echoes before he stands, holding something behind his back. “So, I know it’s small and, um, I’m not that good at wrapping, but….here. Merry Christmas”

And then he pushes a bag of chicken whizees with a bow into Bart’s hands.

Bart touches it gently as if one wrong move will make it all disappear.

“Like I said it’s not much,” Jaime says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s food,” he disagrees because he’s pretty sure that’s one of the best things a person could ever have.

“Oh...well, yeah.” Jaime clears his throat. “I mean….I know you like them.”

“Thank you,” Bart says softly. He looks up to meet Jaime’s eyes. “You know ...this is the first Christmas present I’ve ever gotten.”

Jaime breathes out, mouth turning up in a lopsided smile. “Yeah?”

“I’m really glad it’s from you,” Bart says.

“I….,” Jaime’s eyes crinkle at the corner, “....thanks.”

Bart laughs. “What are you thanking  _ me _ for?”

“Just….nothing.” Jaime comes to lean beside him, taking a long breath and shaking his head before letting them sit in silence.

Bart looks down at the bag of food in his hands before squinting up at the sky. “So, Christmas is more complicated than I expected.”

Jaime laughs. “Yeah, I guess it can be.”

“A lot more complicated,” he mutters.

“Do you like it?”

Bart thinks in a long, stretched out second. “Yeah...I think I do.”

Jaime smiles. “Good.”

“I just…,” Bart frowns, “everyone’s trying so hard so...I hope I’m doing it right, too.”

“Bart,” Jaime’s voice is warm and fond, a counter to the cold in the air. “You are.  _ Of course,  _ you are.”

Bart’s not sure about that.

The alert on his comm is loud and jarring in the dark of the night and they both jump as they look down.

Bart scans the news alert. “Snow storm warning for Central, airport’s shut down.”

Jaime leans back. “Need to go, right?”

“I’m not sure I can stop the weather,” Bart says like he’s not already trying to think of something. Maybe he can borrow something from Mark or...

Jaime hums. “I suppose that’s the good thing about El Paso, don’t really have to worry about a white Christmas.”

Bart stops, frowning. “Thought white Christmases were supposed to be good things?”

“Only in song and movies,” Jaime says. “Not so much for people getting home for the holidays.”

“Huh,” Bart says, his present from Jaime still snug in his hand and the party still bright and moving behind them. “I think I thought of something.”

  
  
  
  


\-----

“Sure I’m the last one? I don’t mind waiting.”

At 9:32 on Christmas Eve, the Central City airport was a jumbled mess of canceled flights and desperate passengers, stuck at their gates with bags still gripped in their hands.

At 11:47, the airport’s quiet. Except one final passenger.

All that’s left is a teenage girl with dark brown eyes, darker hair, and a sticker on her backpack that reads  _ Think Like a Proton and Stay Positive. _

She grins when she sees him. 

“Yep,” he confirms popping the p. “Where to?”

She scratches down an address. “Manchester, Alabama if it’s not too far?”

Stretching out his arms under his uniform, Bart shakes his head. “Nah, trust me, I ran an entire family to São Paulo an hour ago; a few states is  _ nothing _ . Now, come on, we’ve only got like twelve minutes and seven seconds until midnight.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes even as she takes his hand. “For  _ you,  _ I imagine that’s forever.”

It kind of is; but, Bart doesn’t bother mentioning that as he grabs her and pushes, speeding up the world enough that the laws of mass and acceleration bend a bit and Bart’s  _ running  _ because it’s the best feeling in the world, zipping across plains and corn fields to streets and forests and rivers and finally through small town roads that Bart barely bothers to process the street signs for until he finally finds a small one with a slightly crooked house number and a lit up wreath.

The girl laughs as they finally stop, almost tripping at the sudden return to stillness and Bart reaches out, steadying her before she falls face first on the lawn.

“This one?” Bart asks, gesturing to the house as he rolls back on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah, this is it.  _ Thank you, _ ” she says, trying to catch her breath as she takes in the house. She lets out another breathless laugh. “You know I  _ really  _ didn’t expect my college visit to end like this!”

Bart shrugs in a quick half movement, still feeling the edges of the speed force cracking against his skin. “Speedsters are kind of a Central tradition.”

“So, you’re the town mascot,” she teases.

“Nope, tonight, I’m Santa,” he corrects, pointing to the red hat still sitting snug on the top of his head.

“Good.” The girl finally breathes out in a smile. “Because I definitely needed the Christmas miracle.” She nods back to the house. “It’s just me and my brother Bobby. I’d hate to spend Christmas without him.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Bart says and he  _ means _ it. He means it possibly more than anything he’s said all month.

He takes another second to bounce slightly in place, needing to move even in the barely cool wind of the house lawn.

The girl tilts her head, laughing gain. “Are all superheroes this energetic?”

“Nah, I’m just...” Bart trails off, considering his words.

“I really like being able to help,” he finally settles on. “It’s important”

It seems like something Grandpa Barry would do.

“You’re good at it,” the girl says, smiling back at him. She sticks out her hand. “Carol Bucklen, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Bart Allen.”

Carol’s hand freezes in his before she laughs, sudden and surprised. “I  _ really  _ don’t think you’re supposed to just tell me that.”

Bart shrugs because, honestly, people take this whole secret identity thing way too serious. Why should Bart care if people know his name?

“You can call me Impulse if you want,” he offers.

“Nah, too late now,” Carol shakes her head. “The cool silent hero thing is already gone. Besides, I think I like ‘Bart’ better anyway.”

“Meh, I’m not really good at being silent.”

“You don’t say,” she jokes, reaching forward and tugging his hat down so Bart’s world becomes a blur of slightly itchy red fabric.

She’s grinning when Bart readjusts it. “Merry Christmas, Bart Allen,”

Bart smiles. “Merry Christmas, Carol Bucklen.”

  
  
  
  
  


\-----

_ December 25 _

“I love it, Bart,” Jay says, inspecting his new  _ World’s Fastest Grandpa  _ mug like it’s the eighth hidden wonder of the universe.

“I thought…,” Bart starts to babble, “I mean I know you like coffee and I didn’t know what else you really need, so…”

“Best Christmas I’ve had in ages,” Jay says sincerely.

And Bart lets himself relax.

“Um,” Bart takes a breath, “I’m sorry for, you know, kind of...well, basically ditching you last year. I sort of...didn’t know it was Christmas.”

Jay frowns.

“We didn’t have it in the future,” he explains without looking up.

“Oh…” 

Bart tires to pull off a shrug. “I’ve kind of been playing catch up this year.”

“Bart…,” Jay sighs and Bart finally looks up, “I’m sorry, kiddo, I should’ve asked sooner. I just…,” he shakes his head, “you remind me  _ so  _ much of Wally and Barry sometimes that I forget...I forget to ask.” 

“It’s okay,” Bart says automatically. “I understand.”

Jay smiles a bit wistfully. “Doesn’t mean I can’t do better.” He stands, clearing his throat as he does so the next time he speaks, the smile is back full force. “For example,  _ Wally _ always wanted the latest video game; but, you...you, I thought might enjoy something a little bit different.”

He disappears for a second before flashing back and a wrapped box dropping into Bart’s lap.

Bart stares at it.

“Go on, son.” Jay winks. “Traditionally, you open presents rather than stare at them.”

Bart starts at the wrapping paper, pulling gently on the tape so it doesn’t tear before finally untying the bow on top.

He’s left with a box full of disks and black rectangles that he vaguely recognizes from running through libraries.

“They’re recordings,” Jay tells him, pulling out one and wiping off the label until  _ Thanksgiving 2006  _ shows on the side. “Think they’re might be some pictures, too, somewhere at the bottom. Iris got Joan a video camera one Christmas early on and she was absolutely obsessed with the thing. Dragged it out for every holiday.”

Bart tries to find words, looking down at the box. “So, these are…”

“I figured you should have them.” Jay smiles. “Joan would’ve wanted them to go to someone who’d appreciate them.”

Bart doesn’t even try to talk this time, there’s just a blink, a millisecond of space, and then his arms are wrapped tightly around Jay and his head’s by his shoulder. Bart...Bart doesn’t really do hugs much.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Kiddo...” Jay stays still, only moving to put a steadying hand on Bart’s back. “...Bart, I’m just happy you’re here.”

  
  
  


\-----

“And  _ this _ ,” Mick grins sharply over the bowl, “this right here is the true meaning of Christmas.”

Axel snorts, sipping at his glass. “I can’t believe your contribution is booze!”

“Don’t hear you complaining,” Mick shoots back. “Besides, that’s not just  _ any _ booze. This is Grandma Rory’s special eggnog mix, stuff’s near toxic.” 

“Bart can’t even drink,” Sam says.

“I didn’t forget.” Mick flops down on the couch next to Bart, handing him a box of apple juice and patting his head. “Merry Christmas, kid!” 

Bart grins, rolling his eyes.

There’s the knock of the door opening and suddenly all eyes turn to the sound of the final party member striding through the door, dragging a…

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Lisa laughs, delighted. “ _ That’s  _ what you went to find! Lenny, I love it!”

“I had to cut it down myself.” Len says, swearing as he sets down the short and half mangled tree by the window, next to Hartley’s menorah. The tree falls almost immediately.

“I think I can still see the root,” Axel says, leaning down to expect the bottom.

Len ignores them, coming to stand next to Bart. “For the record, kid, I was right. Woods aren’t that festive.”

“Next year, we’re going with store-bought,” Sam suggests wisely as the rest of the Rogues crowd around the tree, trying to find a way to make it stand up right.

Bart stays beside Len, slipping a picture into his hand.

Len looks down at it, frowning before his mouth softens in something not quite a smile. Bart knew Len would understand.

“Where’d you get this,” Len asks, keeping his voice low so it doesn’t carry.

Bart leans beside him, looking down at the photo. “Jay gave it to me.”

In the picture, a blond man and a red haired teenager are caught laughing in a kitchen, half a pie held easily between them.

“It’s kind of cool, right?” Bart pauses. “Photos of me are always blurry; I get bored and move before the photo can take.”

“They must’ve been distracted.” Len hands back the picture. “Good memory, probably.”

“Yeah.” Bart grins. “I think so, too.”

“ _ There _ .” Hartley glares back at them. “Okay, Len, we got your stupid tree to stand. No help from you, too.”

“I did my part,” Len dismisses, moving on to the egg nog and filling himself a glass. “Now, shut up and listen for a second, there’s still one Christmas thing you all forgot to mention.”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Oh, now, you decide to get involved.”

“Told you I’d have a plan, sister dear,” he says before focusing on the group. 

“To the most important part of Christmas.” He raises his glass in a toast. “To family, by blood or by choice. Let the holidays always be a time to gather together.”

As one the group raise their glasses. “To family.”

Len throws a wink at Bart before draining his glass. “And that, kid, is what Christmas should mean.”

Bart smiles back.

“Told you the Boss would do something soft,” Axel whispers to Hartley, not quite quietly enough.

Len glares hard enough that the temperature of the room drops. “Care to say that again,  _ Axel _ .”

Bart...Bart finds that he really _loves_ Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Thank you so, so much to everyone for reading and thank you to everyone last chapter who left kudos, comments, or bookmarks! I APPRECIATE YOU ALL and I hope you're having a lovely New Year's Day.
> 
> (2) You can find Carol's shirt here: https://www.redbubble.com/shop/p/12279173.88ZX2.cluey-kookaburra?rbs=62e27dc5-2f9f-44ad-bc3c-d9eac84bdb78
> 
> (3) So, I really like writing these little Bart and the Rogues short stories and they make for a great way to get over writer's block for thinking of my other stories. No specific promises on when it will post and bearing in mind I don't want this short story collection to get too ahead of the main series because of spoilers, I'm really interested in trying my hand at a 5 + 1 fic in this short story collection and wondered if anyone had any theme they would like to see. If not, that's fine, too. No pressure.
> 
> I love hearing what you guys think of the story!


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